


A Place on Earth

by Magical_Destiny



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brucenat - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Running with it, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:28:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4406399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Destiny/pseuds/Magical_Destiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce and Natasha run away as planned in the aftermath of Age of Ultron. Happily ever after is a little different than either of them thought. The road to healing was never going to be an easy one... but walking it together has its rewards. Brutasha/BruceNat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Choices

**Author's Note:**

> blueincandescence made a stunning video based on this fic! It's heartbreakingly beautiful, so go watch it! <3
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OM9mmBuWVLA

The weather was lovely in Peru this time of year, Natasha decided. It was a warm and humid night and the branches of a few spare palm trees rustled in the wind overhead. The Plaza Mayor was lit up with hundreds of star-bright streetlights, ground lights, and lights mounted evenly across every building; between their brilliant glow and the bright colors of the surrounding architecture, the stars were invisible overhead. Natasha missed being able to see the stars and her boots clicked against the pavement with determined speed.

She left the dazzling plaza and found her motorbike where she had left it much earlier in the day. Her feet ached as she settled into the seat and reached for her helmet. There had been some long days for her in these past few weeks, but today was one for the record books. Working private security was not as much of a throwaway gig as she had feared - especially when your client was a high profile government official.

_If I have to handle just one more amateur assassination attempt, so help me…_ But her thoughts faded into indistinct weariness. She fired up the bike's engine and pulled away from the curb. The pavement and streetlights slid away behind her, and she let her weariness bleed away too. Gradually, the pavement and lights gave way to dirt roads and the distant lights of houses as she left the city limits of Lima behind her. It was a long ride, but a quiet one. Even the growl of her bike faded into white noise after a while, and she felt something like peace steal over her. But it wasn't complete - not yet. She smiled a little in anticipation and cranked up her speed.

She wove her way through winding dirt roads until clusters of houses turned into single homes and finally no homes at all. The empty countryside sped by for several minutes before she finally reached the turnoff and plunged into the dark tunnel created by rows of overhanging trees. Her headlights just managed to pierce the blackness, and she slowed a little to compensate. Her impatience was rising.

Finally, she could see the plain house just ahead. It was a nondescript brown cube with a few windows and two doors, one for each of its short, squat stories. The light was on upstairs, as usual. The dirt road finally gave way to grass and she braked gently before killing the engine altogether. She reached up to pull off her helmet and heard the door creak as it opened.

"Natasha," Bruce Banner's voice easily reached her through the silence of the night and she smiled reflexively.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, swinging her leg over the bike and hanging the helmet from the handlebar.

Bruce shrugged at her from the second story landing. "It's okay," he began in his usual soft tone. Natasha began to climb the stairs to the landing above and he turned to face her.

One of the many things she had learned in the past few weeks was that Bruce was occasionally capable of a very wicked grin. He wore the grin as he spoke again. "I thought maybe you decided to finally ditch me, so I ate your half of dinner. I hope you don't mind."

She had developed the disturbing urge to kiss that grin right off his face whenever it made an appearance. "You're a jerk, Banner," she grumbled as she climbed the stairs. But he pulled her into his arms as soon as she made it to the top. She felt that half-formed sensation of peace finally settle in her chest.

"I missed you," he whispered into her hair.

"Good," she replied quietly, and went for that kiss. Bruce was a very good kisser, as it turned out. He didn't necessarily have the most refined of techniques, but he was very expressive and in-the-moment. Natasha loved that she could read his mood in how he kissed her.

Right now she could tell that he _had_ missed her today. And badly, if the edge of desperation in his touch was any indication. She gentled the kiss a little and brought her hands to his face. "I missed you too," she said when he finally pulled back. He smiled and pulled the door open.

"I have a surprise for you," he said with a smile. It was from the goofier side of his smile spectrum and Natasha wasn't sure whether to sigh or to kiss him again. "I didn't actually eat your dinner."

"Thank goodness." She tried to glare, but it rearranged itself into a very stupid grin by the time it got to her face. "For your sake," she continued anyway. "I would hate to have to kill the cook."

Bruce put on a wounded look as they stepped inside the cramped and half-furnished sitting room. He disappeared down the stairs to the kitchen below and the clink of dishes floated up the stairwell. Glancing around at the barely-contained chaos of papers, Bruce's eclectic collection of scientific equipment, and his empty plate, Natasha felt her fatigue return with a vengeance and she stepped through the door to their bedroom. The moonlight cut a trail across the wooden floor and she tossed her jacket on the bed before turning toward her suitcase to rummage for something to sleep in. The window was at eye level as she dug through her pitiful supply of clothes and she paused to glance at the moon. It gleamed like a shimmering pearl on a bed of black velvet out here where there were no streetlights to outshine it. Natasha smiled to herself.

She could finally see the stars.

* * *

_A few weeks earlier..._

The struggle against Ultron was almost over. Natasha ignored the screens flashing with warnings all around her (of course there were alarms everywhere - the city outside the helicarrier's viewports was _flying_ ) and listened to the comm chatter between Tony, Thor, and Nick with half an ear as she punched in the number to call the quinjet. They were close to detonating Ultron's attempt at a self-made meteor and she was eager to get the Big Guy on board as quickly as possible. He was still out there, still aboard the quinjet that was currently coasting on autopilot and in stealth mode to boot; she needed to get to him quickly before he was out of range. The Big Guy was all but indestructible, but she still didn't relish the thought of him being aboard the jet when it inevitably ran out of fuel. "Come on, come on…" she muttered as the seconds crawled by and the screen displayed the single word _connecting…_

The screen finally sprang to life and the hold of the quinjet came into focus. The Big Guy was standing very still near the back hatch, more huddled and contained than she had ever seen him. He glanced toward the camera that was mounted on the front consoles when she spoke. "Hey, Big Guy." She couldn't place the expression he wore; it was distant and closed. The Big Guy was usually easy to read. His emotions were painted on his oversized features like a revolving collection of theater masks: happy, angry, sad - all easy to identify. But the look he wore now…

It was a Bruce look. Closed off, distant, impossible to read. The Big Guy drew nearer the camera, still wearing Bruce's expression, and she was temporarily stunned into silence. The most disconcerting thing about the transition from Bruce into the Big Guy had always been the eyes. Bruce's eyes were flooded with brilliant green when the transformation began, but sometimes when the Big Guy looked at her, his eyes settled back into warm brown. It was disconcerting and unpredictable - and it was the only shared feature between the two of them when it occurred - but usually the looks that passed through those shared eyes were so distinct that Natasha could navigate the waters easily. But today… today the look in those eyes was muddy and indistinguishable. So she wasn't quite sure who she was addressing when she said. "We can't track you when you're in stealth mode…" She paused for a moment as his fingertips appeared at the edge of the frame, reaching for her. She almost smiled and her fingers twitched upward to match his - but the eyes were still wrong.

She saw Bruce's sadness in those eyes. Bruce's weary resolve. Why was he looking at her this way even as he reached out for her...?

And suddenly her thoughts halted and locked into place with a screech like grinding metal.

"Don't," she said tightly, and she could hear the ice in her tone - the frost of fear. The almost-Bruce look flickered in those muddied brown eyes and she could see the resignation hovering behind them. "Big Guy, don't you _dare._ "

Her suspicions were confirmed when his eyes slid away from her face (in shame or in resignation, she couldn't tell) and fixed on the console which rested below and out of her range of sight. But she had seen the pain in them, had almost felt the heat of their molten distress.

He was going to run.

She forced down the queasy mixture of anger and fear that rose up within her and focused on keeping her voice level and calm. "You always run," she whispered just loudly enough to be heard. She'd read the files, after all. She knew about his disappearing act, the way he ran after the accident that caused his condition, the way he fled into the night after the incident in Harlem. She'd seen the pictures of Betty Ross standing in the rubble of that night, her face streaked with tears as she stared into the dark after him, and dammit, that wasn't _her._

"Don't do this," she said quietly. "You've got so much to come back for…" His face was still and impassive as stone and his eyes hadn't raised from their contemplation of the switches that would cut the call. She could feel him slipping away from her, pulled by an impossibly strong riptide of fear and doubt, but he was still _listening…_

"You've got…" she swallowed and knew what she had to say. After all, there was only one thing that she'd ever known to be stronger than fear. She knew what she had to say, and as she spoke she realized that she also _wanted_ to say it.

"You've got _me._ " (Love.)

His eyes snapped back to hers and that almost-Bruce look was stronger than before. She wasn't sure if that was cause for celebration yet, but it was that same mixed look behind those same eyes that had first given her hope for the lullaby. She reached for him as she had then.

"Come back to _me_ , Bruce."

Just for a moment, he stared expressionlessly and the hum of the audio signal was deafening. She wouldn't beg him, but she'd be damned if she was going to let him disappear without a word. She waited.

The Big Guy's face twitched - whether in pain or anger or another emotion, she couldn't tell - and he stumbled forward and fell below the camera's static line-of-sight. She could still see the quinjet's sickening lurch from the impact.

"Bruce?" She knew the chances of him being injured were all but nonexistent, but her heart still clenched when the silence went on too long. "Bruce!"

The microphone picked up a groan at last and it was Bruce's face, dirty and lined with weariness, that came into frame. She finally breathed.

"Natasha," he said simply. His voice was frayed with weariness, but a hint of a smile was on his face. Natasha smiled back despite the sudden flash of anger that flared to life in her gut.

"Do you know how to dock with the helicarrier?" she asked briskly as the anger finally pulled the smile from her face.

"I think I can manage," he said, glancing away from the camera and towards the control panel.

"Then get over here," she said flatly.

"On my way." He started to turn away.

"Oh, and Bruce?"

He slid back into frame. "Yeah?"

"When you get here, I haven't decided if I'm going to kiss you... or just punch you." She was kidding.

Mostly.

Bruce nodded solemnly. "I guess I deserve that."

Natasha felt the anger give way just a little. "Be careful," she admonished gently, and left the channel open between them in case he needed her assistance.

* * *

She listened as the helicarrier's flight crew directed Bruce to a landing area, and the open channel finally fell into static when the quinjet powered down out on the tarmac. She was waiting for Bruce when he finally trudged onto the bridge level. He was barefoot and shirtless, and streaked with dirt and ash from head to foot. His steps were slow and heavy with weariness. She felt a distant stab of pity him; the transformations were always so draining for him physically. The door hissed shut behind him, finally blocking the shriek of the wind outside and he met her gaze in the ensuing silence.

"You look terrible," she said flatly.

"I _feel_ terrible," he replied in a voice cracked with weariness.

He looked so tired with his slumped shoulders and lined face that Natasha felt the heat of her anger fade again, and she stepped forward to slide her arms around his waist. Bruce went stiff - as he always did when she touched him - but she felt the tension give way after a moment and his arms rested lightly around her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You should be," she replied. "You were going to leave without a word." She pulled back from him to look in his eyes. "Don't ever do that again. You want to leave - fine. But talk to me. You don't deserve to have to run like that…" Her voice sank into a whisper. "And _I_ don't deserve that either."

She saw the sudden pain in his eyes. "You're right," he replied. "I'm sorry."

She slid her hand to his face and smiled at him for just a moment. "Apology accepted. Just don't do that again - I mean it, Bruce."

He nodded and smiled wearily. She stepped back and her hand slid away from his face. She noted his flash of disappointment with satisfaction.

"I found you some clothes." She tossed him a pack with a standard issue S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier crew uniform. He caught it. "Let's find you a room," she continued, already walking toward the nearest elevator. "You look like you could sleep for a week." Bruce's hesitant steps followed her after a moment. They paused in front of the closed elevator doors.

"Thank you," he said quietly. But his expression was uneasy.

"What?" she asked when his silence became a little long.

"I thought I was promised a kiss." His discomfort shifted into the sheepish look he wore so well. For a moment, Natasha considered giving him that kiss.

"Or a punch," she corrected when the moment passed. "And that's not a decision you want me to make right now."

Bruce nodded solemnly. "Fair enough," he replied, and Natasha treasured his look of disappointment.

* * *

It was an eight-hour flight back to New York, and Bruce slept like the dead for most of it. Natasha haunted the bridge until Nick Fury finally finished his call to the World Security Council on the subject of aid for Sokovia, spotted her, and promptly ordered her to the MedBay. Her wide variety of cuts and bruises was patched up, and she walked the helicarrier until the need to check on Bruce became overpowering.

She opened his door as quietly as possible, and found him sleeping soundly on the plain cot in the empty room she had found for him. His face was clean now, and he wore the old S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform that didn't fit him properly. Even in sleep, his face looked troubled.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her as she poked her head into the darkened room. The weight of hours of travel time, more hours in a cramped cell courtesy of Ultron, and still more hours fighting robotic hoards finally fell over her like a stifling blanket and she thought about finding herself a cot of her own. She listened to Bruce's quiet breathing and suddenly the thought of leaving the room became a difficult one.

An empty folding chair sat against the wall opposite his bed, and Natasha gravitated toward it. She eased herself down into the chair, ignoring the heavy feeling in her limbs and slumped until she could rest her head against the wall. She took one last look at Bruce, safe and _here_ , before succumbing to the dreamless sleep of exhaustion.

* * *

"Hey." It was Bruce's voice that woke her. She could feel the passage of several hours in the painful stiffness of her back, but her eyes still burned with fatigue when she opened them. Her weariness was reflected in the dark circles under Bruce's eyes. He looked half-asleep standing in front of her, with his sleep-mussed hair and the tired set of his shoulders. "Why don't you take the bed?" he said softly. Natasha sat up and her back gave an almost musical array of cracks and pops. "Ouch," she muttered. "What time is it?"

"Not sure," he replied, glancing at the empty room. She reached for her pocket where she usually kept her phone and belatedly remembered that it was one of the things she lost during her time as Ultron's _guest_. Lovely.

"I'm not sure either," she muttered in irritation as her back gave yet another twinge of pain. She grimaced.

"Take the bed," Bruce prodded. "That chair can't be comfortable."

"It's not," she agreed as she shifted and stretched. "But I need to get back to the bridge anyway, so you can go back to sleep. I can find another place to crash if I need to."

Bruce looked unconvinced, but he nodded. Natasha stood and was starting for the door when she felt a disconcerting tingling sensation in her stomach; the helicarrier was descending.

"I think we're getting close," she said, turning back to Bruce. He still stood a few feet away. "I'm not sure where the helicarrier's landing, but I know Tony will want to take the quinjet back to Avengers Tower. I'll come back and get you when we're ready to go." Bruce managed to look lost even in the midst of the tiny, contained space of the room and she felt the urge to give him something to hold on to. "We've got some packing to do when we get back," she added quietly.

His face slid instantly into disbelief. "You really want to do this?" He was still drifting and anchorless, despite the line of hope she was trying to throw out to him. "Yes," she answered simply. _Take the line, Bruce. Take the hope._

"Why?" He looked at her like she was an unsolvable mystery and her heart clenched.

"Because you won't be able to relax until we're somewhere far away. You need some time to relax and recover after… everything." His face creased with pain and she hurried on before he had the chance to get lost in it. "You need that time. You deserve it. And I…" She took a breath and caught his eye, trying to find him behind their lost look. "I'm with you."

His expression went blank and he hesitated for so long that her heart sank. "Unless you don't want me to come-" she started.

"No," he interrupted much too quickly. "That's not it." Warmth welled up from deep in her chest and a smile followed it; she suppressed both when she saw that he wasn't quite finished. "You deserve better," he argued in a defeated tone.

"Bruce," she began, frustration rising up in her chest like a firestorm. "You have never been the best judge of your own worth. Or of my decisions." He was staring at her and she couldn't read the look in his eyes, so she kept pushing. Besides, he needed to hear this once and for all and stop _running_. "If we had gone with _your_ instincts, you would never have joined the Avengers, there would be no lullaby, and you would be huddled in an off-grid hut in the middle of nowhere with no friends and no hope. Take some free advice, Bruce: sometimes your friends have insight that you don't. So if you want to do this… then do it." She paused to let her words sink in. Bruce, she had observed, would often come around to a more hopeful way of thinking if he was just given the time - and enough of a push.

"I want to come with you," she said quietly, preparing for that final push. "Do _you_ want me to come?" He looked at her and she could see the strain behind his eyes.

"Yes," he whispered finally, and she could see that it was a struggle for him to say it. But hope was always a struggle for Bruce Banner. She knew that… and his honesty warmed her heart.

"Okay, then," she said quietly. "When we get back to the Tower, we'll pack up and we'll go." He still looked as though he was struggling under a great weight; she wished fervently that he would let her help to carry it. But his admission that he wanted her along was enough for now - they had all the time in the world to work on the rest. She smiled at the thought.

"I'll be back," she said as she turned towards the door.

"Natasha."

She turned back. Her met her eyes and this time she could see something brighter behind that wall of struggle and guilt. He sighed.

"I adore you, too," he said softly.

The remaining anger fell away from her like tattered cloth and she felt weightless underneath her bruised skin. Crossing the empty space between them, she took his weary face in her hands and kissed him soundly. She felt the weariness and tension loosen their grip on him and his shoulders relaxed as his hands came to rest against the small of her back.

"I'm glad you decided against the punch," he breathed when she pulled back.

"Never say never," she replied flatly. But she smiled.

Bruce sobered and she finally identified the light in his eyes as happiness. That faint light slipped all-too-quickly behind his ever present fear. "I guess I made my decision, too," he said in a tone edged with uncertainty. She pulled him close again.

"Bruce," she began, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "You chose well." She kissed him again, and felt him smile against her lips.


	2. Touches

Nick Fury halted the helicarrier's descent long enough to allow the quinjet to take off, and the Avengers (plus Colonel Rhodes and the purple guy that Tony kept calling "The Vision" with no explanation) sat through the last leg of their globetrotting journey in weary silence. Bruce looked as though he could sleep indefinitely, and Natasha empathized keenly; her whole body ached for sleep. She settled for sitting next to Bruce and leaning against him just a little. He started when she first slumped towards him, his shoulder going stiff next to hers. She felt him relax fractionally, and with every passing minute, he inched back towards his usual slouched posture. She shot him a tiny smile and he finally loosened his tense muscles and leaned towards her, too.

* * *

They arrived at Avengers Tower and Natasha felt as though her body was weighted with countless sandbags when she finally stood. Dozens of scrapes and bruises screamed for painkillers and rest, but she tucked every one of those nonessential thoughts away and focused instead on her mental list of what she needed to bring with her. Bruce staggered a little when he hauled himself to his feet, and she grabbed his arm with the long force of habit. "You okay?" she prodded gently.

"No," he answered, "But I'll get over it." Natasha glanced at his red eyes and slumped shoulders, felt the slight tremor of his arm under her fingertips, and made a decision.

"Okay," she began in her most businesslike tone, "Sleep first, packing second, running away from home third." Her concerns over Bruce's exhaustion were confirmed when he didn't even try to argue.

He trudged toward his room in the Tower, and Natasha stayed as close as his shadow. "Natasha, are you following me?" he joked halfheartedly.

"Just want to make sure you're alright," she replied. _And make sure you don't pull a disappearing act,_ a traitorous voice in her mind whispered. She crushed it instantly. Bruce smiled sadly and she almost wondered if he could hear the voice too.

They limped together to Bruce's room and he typed in the security code for the door release. The room was dark and bare, just a bed (king-sized like every other bed in the Stark-funded Tower), a dresser, a closet, and a door that led to the bathroom. There were only lamps and a few books resting on the surfaces around them, and despite the fact that the closet was shut, Natasha knew there wasn't much inside. Bruce lived in his lab; he only slept in his room. The man in question sat heavily on the bed and let out a weary breath. "See you in the morning?" he asked softly.

"Sure," she answered in a whisper, not quite able to define the source of the dread that filled her at the thought of walking out the door. She took the first step anyway, and Bruce's face contracted with something akin to that same dread. "What?" she prompted curiously.

"I…" Bruce looked as though his every thought had instantly evaporated out of his head. "I don't…" He sighed and looked distantly frustrated. Natasha waited in silence.

"You could stay," he said finally. "If you want."

"To sleep?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not up for much else," he replied with a short laugh.

The dread slid away from her and something solid and comforting settled in the center of her chest. "Okay," she answered simply. Bruce's smile was edged with weariness, but it was the genuine one. He offered her the bathroom first, and disappeared inside with a change of clothes when she declined. She pulled open his dresser drawers and found the soft sleep shirts she had seen during his occasional nights of insomnia, selecting the dark blue shirt that had long been her favorite. She slid out of her jumpsuit and pulled the shirt over her head; it was too big for Bruce, so she was fairly swimming in it.

It felt wonderful.

She pulled back the covers and climbed into the ridiculously enormous bed and idly wondered why Tony Stark was so extravagant even in these details as sleep finally clouded her mind. Bruce emerged from the bathroom and paused for a moment in the doorway. "That's my shirt," he observed lightly.

"Yup," Natasha replied without remorse, but she could hear her exhaustion bleeding into her voice. Bruce laughed quietly. "Okay," he whispered and slid under the covers next to her. "See you in the morning, Natasha."

He took full advantage of the enormous size of the bed and she found herself staring at his distant back.

Unacceptable.

She crossed the space between them and curled up against his back, sliding an arm around his stomach and pressing her face against his shirt. _That's better,_ she thought in satisfaction. Bruce's muscles tightened beneath her touch and she wondered for a moment if he would object. But after a moment he exhaled, his muscles went slack, and she felt his fingers curl loosely around her hand.

_Much better_ , she thought to herself, and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Natasha opened her eyes to find sunlight pouring through the curtained windows with far too much enthusiasm. A thousand aches and dull pains awoke when she did and she suppressed the groan that rose in the back of her throat. The fact that she was still tucked against Bruce's back and his hand still covered hers helped her to feel a little better about the situation. Bruce lay as still as a stone, but his shallow breathing would have alerted her to the fact that he was awake even if he hadn't been idly stroking her wrist with his thumb.

"Good morning," she whispered to his back. His thumb froze.

"You're awake," he said quietly. He shifted and sat up, but didn't untangle their fingers. "I didn't wake you, did I?" He winced. "Sorry…"

Bruce apologized more than any person she had ever met, and it was adorable and sad all at once. "You didn't wake me," she corrected gently. The sunlight grew brighter, warming the silence in the room. "Big day today," she commented lightly when Bruce seemed determined to stare at the wall.

"Yeah," he said absently.

"I need to make a few calls, but we can have new identities ready to go before the day is out," she started. Bruce finally looked at her.

"Oh, uh… I've already got myself a cover identity, actually," he said with an expression that bordered on embarrassment. "I got that ball rolling after… after what happened." She saw the memories awake behind his eyes like vengeful ghosts, and he sank into pensive silence. His gaze wandered back to the wall.

Natasha's surprise slid easily into understanding; this wasn't his first time disappearing, after all. He knew a thing or two about fading into the dark shadows of the world. She thought about tracking him down in Calcutta, a nameless Good Samaritan who the locals spoke of with fondness and smiles. She had developed the same reaction to the man, in the end. Although her attitude toward him eventually burned a little hotter than the distant love of those locals. She found herself staring at him and wondering how his competence with switching identities could make him seem even more attractive than a moment before.

Or maybe she just liked staring at him.

She indulged herself in admiring him silently, tempted to sit up and run her fingers through his hair to see if she could get a kiss out of him that she didn't initiate. But Bruce's stare had turned hollow and even the sunlight seemed colder in the face of his stormy expression. Natasha decided that different tactics were in order.

"Alright, hotshot," she started, relishing the way his gloomy look gave way to surprise. "Since you're already on top of this situation… I guess I'll make my identity match yours. I hope you picked out a good last name."

"You can pick whatever name you want…" he trailed off in confusion.

"True. But married couples always attract less suspicion."

Natasha struggled not to laugh as his eyes went wide.

"Um…" he started diplomatically. "What?"

"Married couples make for the best cover," she explained with the confident tone of long experience. "Or families," she added as an afterthought. "But unless Clint doesn't mind lending us a kid or two, we'll have to go it alone."

Bruce was staring at her with the look of a man who had wandered into a pathless forest. "I'm not suggesting that we get married, Bruce," she said with a smirk. "But I've been in this business a long time, and I'm telling you that nobody looks twice at a couple of newlyweds. But unwed couples or unrelated groups - people notice that. And people are nosy."

"Okay," he answered after a moment. But he still looked profoundly uncomfortable, so she decided to have a little fun.

"We could also do the brother/sister thing," she started, and smiled a little when his face fell. "But that will look awfully strange when I make out with you all the time."

Bruce cleared his throat and Natasha couldn't quite be sure in the uncertain light, but she swore that he _blushed._

"That's what we're going to be doing?" he asked in a tone much too controlled for a man who had woken up to talk of false identities and real relationships. She looked at his unshaved face and his uncertain expression and felt a swell of affection in her chest.

"Yup," she answered, privately cursing the fact that she needed a shower and a toothbrush before she could get her make out plan started. Bruce absorbed her response with a thoughtful look.

"All the time?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Oh yeah," she replied immediately. She was extremely satisfied when his dark expression cleared and settled into a smile.

* * *

The sun was streaming into Bruce's bedroom from a much higher angle by the time Natasha returned with a travel bag, new phones, and the beginnings of a plan. Bruce's room looked much the same as before, with the addition of an open suitcase on the bed and the relocation of his books into that suitcase.

"You are packing clothes, right?" she asked dryly as Bruce struggled to fit one last book into his bag.

"What?" he asked distantly, his forehead creasing with concentration as he pulled out another book to make room. "Oh, yeah. They're just…buried." He finally managed to slide the final book into place and gave a sigh of relief. "I've dragged these books with me for a long time," he said, answering her questioning look. "It wouldn't feel right to leave them behind." Natasha thought of her bag, barely filled with a few articles of clothing and a handful of necessities, and thought that it must be nice to have a few sentimental things to carry with you through life.

"So," Bruce continued, interrupting her thoughts, "Where to?"

"You didn't already have a plan?"

"I did, but I wasn't sure... I thought we should probably decide this together."

_Together._

The word sent a tingle up her spine that reminded her of the feeling she got in the pit of her stomach during particularly dicey missions - the feeling of having no idea what would happen next. Natasha couldn't conclusively identify the sensation as either excitement or terror. It was probably both, she decided distantly.

"What was your first thought?" she asked finally, forcing her thoughts to order themselves.

"I was thinking… and feel free to veto this idea… Peru. I know a guy who would be willing to let me rent a house outside Lima, so…" he paused and studied her face uncertainly. "What do you think?"

Natasha's mind was flooded with images she had seen of Peru over the years - cathedrals, beaches, brightly colored cities, and mist-topped mountains - and she realized that it was one of a very few places she had never been. "Who's the guy?" she asked, turning over the idea of a house near Lima in her mind. She imagined exploring the markets and sights of the city, walking on the beaches, climbing into the remote places of the mountains… and she found that she didn't care much where they lived or what the house was like, as long as the picture included Bruce. She abruptly realized how sappy and sentimental that was and suppressed a grimace.

"It's a long story," Bruce began, and laid out a convoluted tale of his time in Brazil a few years past, when he made a few friends as a factory worker under an assumed name. Natasha vaguely remembered reading various reports about the discovery of Dr. Banner and the "incident" that had resulted in the destruction of a factory… as well as a fair number of deaths. She was relieved when Bruce sketched the bare outlines of his time there and didn't wallow in any unpleasant memories. "He left the country after the factory was… destroyed." His jaw clenched for just a moment, and she saw him force himself past the memories. "He called me to say that he had family in Peru and he was going back there. Said he could get me a place to stay if I needed it. So I called him a couple of days ago… turns out he's moved on again, and he has a house I can rent. He doesn't know who I really am," he concluded quietly. "So it ought to be alright."

"Okay," Natasha said, and gathered up her bag. Bruce blinked at her, and she moved to zip up his suitcase. "You done packing this?"

"Yeah, go ahead. But… you're okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't I be? Lima sounds good. We better get moving, though - I have a plane standing by for us." She hefted her bag to her shoulder and turned to face him.

Bruce was wearing an expression of disbelief. He stared at her for a moment, before he blinked and reached for his suitcase. He turned into the light and Natasha caught sparkle of tears in his eyes. He took a deep breath and came to stand beside her, pulling his suitcase behind him. By the time he looked at her, his eyes were just barely damp. "You're amazing," he whispered, and gathered her hand into his. Natasha realized distantly that it might be the first time he had ever reached for her. She intertwined their fingers.

"Ready to run away from home?" she asked with a tiny smile.

"Let's do it," he answered. His smile disappeared as quickly as the flame of a match, but it burned just as brightly.

She started out the door and tugged him along behind her. Bruce halted suddenly.

"You said you have a plane waiting for us?"

"Yeah. Charter flight - we're the only passengers."

"What about the pilot?" he asked, and she sighed at the shadow that crossed his face.

"He's trustworthy. And I made sure there are plenty of parachutes on board for... emergencies," she answered his unspoken concern. Bruce relaxed a fraction.

"Okay," he agreed quietly. They finally made it out the door and headed for the elevator.

"I hate flying," Bruce remarked thoughtfully as they watched the floor numbers shift above the elevator doors.

"Hey." Natasha bumped his shoulder with hers. "Happy thoughts, Bruce."

In the blurred reflection of the elevator doors, Natasha caught his smile.

* * *

Natasha had spent the weeks since she had become aware of Bruce's feelings towards her in careful study of the man and his response to every type of touch. He tensed anytime their hands brushed, and his whole body went rigid when she hugged him. The response was immediate and deeply ingrained after so many years of running from any and all contact, so she wasn't offended at his reactions. But she _did_ feel a swift stab of sorrow every time he drew back before reaching out. So when they climbed into a cab heading for the airport, Natasha made it her mission to acclimate him to affectionate touches the best way she knew: immersion therapy.

Bruce pulled the cab door shut as she called out their destination to the driver and she slipped her hand into his while he was distracted. His moment of reflexive tension melted away faster than she could have hoped and she tossed him a smile as the cab pulled away from the curb.

They made great time to the airport and she held fast to his hand the whole way, even refusing to relinquish it as they walked through the crowds at the airport. She watched him in her peripheral vision as they navigated the congested walkways. The nervous energy that always gripped him in crowds was there, of course, but she saw something else in the way he stood up straight and looked forward instead of at the ground, felt it in the growing confidence of his grip on her hand.

It took her a moment to recognize the difference in his stance and demeanor, but she finally spotted it: Bruce wasn't an outsider in this moment, because he was with her. And that fact even made him _move_ differently. She had never been someone's anchor before, never had the chance to systematically support someone instead of undermining them, heal instead of destroy. There was strength in this thing that they had. Strength for him. (She brushed past the thought that it was peculiar for the strongest man in the world to need an outside source of support; of course, nothing was ever usual about Bruce Banner.)

She smiled at him reflexively, and noticed the warmth rising in her chest. It was a pleasant sort of fullness that filled in places she had never been aware of, let alone wondered at their vacancy. She stepped back from the feeling and examined it distantly as they navigated the rivers of people that flowed in every direction. She realized that she _liked_ holding Bruce's hand, liked keeping their shoulders pressed together when they sat down, and liked letting her fingertips linger on his arm or back when it wasn't strictly necessary. All her life she had been trained and conditioned to use touch as one of many weapons in her arsenal; she knew countless ways to kill a man with her bare hands, and touch was also an integral part of any successful seduction tactics. Touch had always been about violence or about sex in her world, with each option carrying the same dose of lethal intent. Or it had been up until she met Clint and his family and learned that children liked hugs and kisses and handholding without goals or expectations or rewards. She had realized then that it could feel wonderful sometimes just to touch someone with casual affection, to reach out for simple connection. It was closeness and trust, she thought as she glanced down at their intertwined hands.

It was _love._

The thought didn't stick in her mind like a shard of glass as it once had, long ago when falling in love had seemed simultaneously foolish and without purpose. _Love is for children,_ the ghost of her own voice whispered through her mind. And maybe that was true. But she had observed that children were often far happier than their elders - happier and much more affectionate. A little of that innocent happiness rubbed off on her every time Cooper or Lila Barton reached for her hand or hugged her without a thought, like it was easy and obvious and natural. Those touches always awoke a fierce ache somewhere in her chest, a hollow echo that revealed a cavernous emptiness that lurked out of her reach and out of everyone else's sight.

She realized abruptly that she was almost as starved for this kind of touch as Bruce was. And maybe… maybe it _was_ as easy as Cooper and Lila made it look. She halted in the middle of the airport and slid her hand from Bruce's grip. He looked momentarily bereft (but not surprised, and she hated how easy it was for him to think that she would pull away), but she offered him a smile and tucked her arm through his so they could be closer. This time he _did_ look surprised. But he relaxed into her touch after a moment and they continued toward their gate and the plane that would take them away together.

Maybe, she thought, in this _thing_ they had (this _relationship,_ her mind supplied after a moment), there could be healing and strength for her, too. Maybe she could rely on him to be there when that terrible ache echoed out of the empty places in her chest. Maybe trust and connection and even affection could be everyday occurrences and not just special occasions. She glanced at his face, and he looked as tired as always, but she caught a light in his eyes that wasn't so usual. It looked so foreign on his face that it took her a moment to recognize it as hope.

Maybe they could learn how to do this together.

* * *

They boarded their plane soon after, stowed their meager luggage, and settled beside each other in the private cabin. "First class all the way," Natasha deadpanned. Bruce smiled and glanced out the window as the pilot guided the plane towards the runway.

"I've never actually flown first class," he replied thoughtfully.

"Well that explains why you hate flying. Nobody's ever shown you how it's done. Just wait - once we're in the air, I'll find the champagne and the snacks." Bruce smiled and she realized that she hadn't touched him at all for the past few moments. She wouldn't make much of an immersion therapist at this rate, she decided, sliding her arm through his and slumping to rest her head on his shoulder.

"First lesson of long first class flights," she began in a strict tone. "Take naps."

The plane began to roll down the runway, picking up speed for takeoff. She felt Bruce turn towards her and smile faintly against her hair.

* * *

They landed in Lima after eight hours of sipping champagne and watching in-flight movies. She had fallen asleep during _Casablanca_ (but it wasn't the first time she and Bruce had watched it together, so it wasn't _that_ rude), and had awakened to find Bruce's head resting against hers as he dozed. It wasn't a bad way to wake up, she considered as she and Bruce disembarked into the milling crowds of the _Aeropuerto Internacional._ Bruce reached for her hand immediately and seized it like a lifeline. _Therapy showing signs of success,_ she mused silently, and kept a tight grip on his hand.

* * *

Bruce immediately bought a car with faded blue paint and dubious mechanical reliability off the street for far too much money. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "We need a means of transportation that's not traceable," he defended with a shrug. "Kind of rules out rental cars."

"No, you're right," she replied. "I was just wondering where Bruce Banner, mild-mannered scientist, got that much cash. Do you run a drug empire that I don't know about?"

"No," Bruce replied with a flustered look. He tossed their luggage in the backseat and climbed into the car. Natasha joined him - the car was ten years old at least and smelled like cigarette smoke - and he spoke after both their doors were shut. "I just… Tony set up an emergency account for me. As a birthday present." He shook his head. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he said that I might have to run one of these days and he didn't want me to have a hard time." His eyes grew unfocused and distantly sad and she realized with a shock that he _missed_ Tony.

She would never understand friendships, she thought, and she pondered Bruce and Tony (and herself and Clint) as Bruce drove them to their new home.

* * *

They found the secluded, tree-lined lane that led to their squat, brown, two-story house. The grass was emerald green around the home, and a pond lay just behind it. It was quiet and private and Natasha liked it immediately.

She grabbed her bag and Bruce grabbed his, and they opened the front door. It was dark, dusty, and sparsely furnished. The tiny living area morphed into a kitchen and a staircase disappeared into the cobwebbed rafters. "So," Bruce said quietly. "It's kind of a fixer-upper." But Natasha didn't agree. The walls were painted a light cream, the wood floors were beautiful, and the rooms looked just pleasantly crammed enough to feel _safe,_ somehow. (Or maybe none of that mattered, and it was just the company.)

"I like it," she said, and meant it.

Bruce stepped inside. She followed him, noting distantly the way their footprints left a trail in the dust. He reached for her hand again, and she slid her fingers through his, glad that he was reaching out to her with ease. He turned to look at her, and there was something bold in his eyes (the spark of hope finally ignited). He stepped close to her and paused for one breathless fraction of a moment before he kissed her, slowly and gently. Natasha thought she had never felt anything so wonderful in her life.

_Therapy successful,_ she thought faintly and slid her fingers into his hair as she kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spooning scene (more like swooning scene amirite) was partially inspired by the artwork of murrmernator on Tumblr. Look her up on Tumblr for some beautiful BruceNat artwork!
> 
> I thought it was particularly fitting for Bruce and Natasha to be watching Casablanca on the plane, because if you've ever seen Casablanca, you know that the ending involves some very emotional choices about whether or not certain people should get on a certain plane and I CHEATED FATE AND MADE THE HAPPY ENDING HAPPEN AHAHAHA.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> All this Brazil mentions were references to The Incredible Hulk, although I made up that friend. Bruce had only one friend that we see in the movie, the young woman who he tried to defend from the group of jerks that he later Hulks out on. And I think a fair number of people were killed during that Hulk out. If you watch those scenes, a lot of people get flung through walls and crushed by tanks and all sorts of unpleasantness. It's kind of sobering to see the collateral damage of a Hulk out, even if all the characters who are hurt/killed are people the audience isn't meant to have sympathy for... poor Bruce. :(
> 
> Just a quick note on characterization... it's hard. In all seriousness, though, it's weird to write happy and functional Bruce and Natasha, because what we see in the movies is so very angsty and dramatic! But since I've maneuvered them into a situation where they're "running with it" and Bruce gets with the BruceNat program (instead of ruining my life by disappearing on the jet DARN IT BRUCE WHY), I've also placed them in the position of just being together and dealing with stuff together and that's kind of unexplored territory in canon. So... I'm trying my best. It feels like wandering into a desert where the sand is constantly sliding away under your feet and I'm just like "where is the solid character ground?" and the desert of fic writing is like "lol it doesn't exist" and I'm like "ahhhhhh!" It's all very dramatic. I would love to hear your thoughts about the way I decided to go with Bruce and Natasha and if your thoughts differ on how they would behave in this set of happy AU circumstances.
> 
> I also feel compelled to warn everyone that as I've been writing, I've realized that this story is devolving into a somewhat aimless, anecdotal fluff-fest. That was sort of my intention from the start - I wanted some BruceNat fluff and happiness like nobody's business - so hopefully everyone's okay with that. ;)


	3. Confessions

Natasha woke and became aware of several sensations all at once: the warmth of the sun spilling over her back and half of her face, the distant, steady beating of Bruce's heart under her right ear, and the tingling of her scalp. The conclusions came rapidly after years of learning to wake and analyze situations instantly: she was in bed, it was well into the morning, she was using Bruce as a pillow, and the pillow was awake… and playing with her hair. She opened her eyes. A long strand of her hair hung suspended between Bruce's fingers and gleamed red-gold in the morning light. Bruce stared with the look of fascination that was usually reserved for his projects with Tony. It took him a moment to feel her gaze.

"Oh," he said, letting her hair slide from between his fingers. "You're awake."

"You always say that like it's a surprise," she commented with a smirk. Bruce laughed.

"I guess it is. I'm not used to waking up with you."

"Get used to it," she said quietly. Bruce looked at her with his unique mixture of doubt and awe and she had just decided to kiss him when he beat her to the punch. "That's a nice way to wake up," she whispered when he pulled back.

"Get used to it," Bruce replied instantly. He brushed her hair away from her face and his hand lingered, fingers weaving absently through the strands.

They remained in the warmth and the silence for a few undisturbed moments. Natasha distantly noted the pitiful state of the bedroom; it was all blank walls and dusty surfaces, with only two plain suitcases to break the monotony. They were lucky there had been a single blanket in the closet, even if it was thin and musty. She added a supply run to her mental to-do list. She sighed; the list was already a long one.

"What?" asked Bruce with a curious glance.

"Lots to do," she replied, sitting up reluctantly. She was pleased when Bruce's face reflected the same reluctance. She climbed out of the bed and hunted through her suitcase for some clothes. She hadn't brought very many - another thing to take care of. Getting established in a new life was always a colossal pain. Of course, part of the trick of undercover work was having fun in spite of all the difficulties. She glanced at Bruce and suppressed a smile.

"Heads up," she said, tossing his phone at him. "Did you text your boyfriend to let him know we're okay?"

"I sent Tony a message, yeah." He blinked. "Wait. Boyfriend?"

Natasha smirked at him. "You knew who I was talking about, didn't you?"

"That's fair." Bruce grinned and the rare mischievous look entered his eyes. She couldn't look away.

"What about you? Did you send a message to _your_ boyfriend?"

She assumed he was making a lame joke about Clint. Of course, after a lifetime of twisting unforeseen circumstances to her advantage, Natasha knew precisely how to handle this moment. "Not yet," she replied smoothly. "But I will." She reached for her phone and tapped out a short message. "There," she said after a moment, laying the phone aside with a private smirk. Behind her, Bruce's phone pinged. He glanced down and reached for his glasses. She knew the message that was waiting for him.

_we're okay :)_

He stared at the text wordlessly for a long moment before sliding his glasses from his face and laying them carefully on the bedside table. "I'm your boyfriend?" he asked finally.

"Bruce," she said, "after last night, you better be."

This time she was certain: Dr. Bruce Banner _blushed._

* * *

The days melted into weeks in their tiny house under the trees. Natasha loved the seclusion and the quiet (sometimes she was even able to relax), but most of all, she loved spending an unprecedented amount of time with Bruce. She had first begun to enjoy his company after the Battle of New York and the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. when friends had been hard to come by and trustworthy causes even harder. The days of Hydra-busting as a team had been good times, but the quiet moments in between missions were even more treasured memories. Bruce had always proven himself to be Natasha's favorite type of company: quiet and undemanding.

She had discovered that he was an excellent listener (despite Tony's periodic complaints about that one time he fell asleep during a heartfelt conversation; Natasha had still never asked for the full story). She had also been intrigued by his flashes of humor. His sense of humor was sometimes morbid and always self-deprecating, but it _was_ funny. And sometimes the only way to shake off horrors was to laugh about them.

Bruce had also proved to be one of the most accepting men she had ever encountered. He hadn't so much as glanced at her differently when her tightly-guarded secrets became a matter of public record during the initial Hydra crisis. She had steeled herself for the moment when she would catch a hint of judgement or and echo of disgust in his eyes, but it never came. It still hadn't come, even though she was positive that he knew it all by now. After all, she had personally confided a lot of it to him herself. Nevertheless, he only ever looked at her like she was something wonderful and their precious balance of understanding and acceptance remained undisturbed in their quiet home by the pond.

She discovered new things about him, too. She discovered just how much Bruce liked to read, so she made sure that their path to the market took them past a number of bookstores and libraries. Occasionally she pretended to see something she wanted in the windows so she could pull him inside and tempt him to get something. He caught onto her game very quickly, but he usually got the books anyway. He had a habit of reading at night, and he put all his books in stacks in the kitchen and living area until she had insisted that it was alright for him to read in bed. She could sleep through anything, let alone one reading lamp. (It was, however, getting difficult for her to sleep without his warmth beside her.) She pressed herself close to him and sometimes fell asleep while he read, sometimes read his books with him, and sometimes tested how much he liked a given book by kissing him until he tossed it aside. (Either he wasn't truly a devoted reader or he was just terrible at that particular game so far; he had never made it past two kisses.)

She discovered that sometimes mundane tasks like shopping were difficult for him because crowds made him so nervous. The haunted look that had appeared in his eyes after their encounter with the Enhanced girl Wanda Maximoff still surfaced occasionally when he had to go out alone. Natasha worked to minimize that damage the only way she could; she went with him. He relaxed when they were together, even in the midst of crowded plazas and markets, and even under the curious stares of the locals who could clearly see that they were neither tourists nor natives. She called herself his "safety blanket" sometimes, although Bruce always responded with a pained look and the statement that she was much more than that. Still, wandering through markets of flowers and fruits and fish was fun when they did it together. Natasha found it odd that so many things became significant and enjoyable just by the fact of his presence.

Finally, she discovered that Bruce wasn't a magnificent cook despite the fact that he enjoyed cooking. He liked to alter recipes or - worse - cook with no recipe at all. They ate quite a few bizarre pastas and strange stir-fries before Natasha discreetly made certain that a few cookbooks found their way into the kitchen. She said nothing, however, because the few times that she attempted to cook a meal, the results were even worse. After she managed to burn bread rather than toast it for the second morning in a row, Bruce intercepted her and slipped the bread out of her hand on the third. "Let me handle that," he said sweetly and flashed a winning smile. Ever since she had begun to think of him as handsome, that smile had been a thorn in her side. She studied him suspiciously as he cut a few slices from the loaf. She suspected that he was catching on to that particular weakness… and making the most of it. He always was too perceptive for a scientist.

"What's wrong, Bruce? You don't like my cooking?" she jabbed with a smirk.

Bruce was lining up the slices of bread on a broiling pan and didn't look up, but she saw the smile starting on his face. "Oh, your cooking is great," he said lightly. "If you're the sort of person who likes having screwdrivers for breakfast."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

He slid the pan into the oven and turned to smile smugly at her. "Nope."

"It was my _lunch_ , just for the record."

Bruce shrugged. "Whatever you say, sweetheart." She tried to be offended, but she ended up kissing him instead. She slid her fingers into his hair and waited until she smelled burning bread to pull away. Bruce looked dazed.

"I think your toast is burning," she said sweetly, and pressed one last kiss to his lips. Bruce just sighed as she moved to slice more bread. She smiled privately; he was catching onto her weaknesses (and she found somehow that she didn't mind), but she also knew his.

Bruce tossed the ruined toast out and Natasha decided that the old saying about serving revenge cold was ill-informed. Revenge was clearly a dish best served broiled.

* * *

Weeks passed, and the international news coverage of Bruce's uncontrolled Hulk-out died down, along with the persistent calls for his arrest. Once the furor had faded and Natasha was certain that no one had trailed them, she began hunting for a job. Their emergency funds would only go so far.

Private security work was the highest paying gig in the immediate area and with her false identity and her real skill sets both airtight in the resumé department, she found landing a lucrative bodyguard contract to be rather low-hanging fruit. Bruce had a little more trouble.

" _Calificaciones para la posición…_ " He sat hunched over their recently-purchased computer, squinting at a handful of job listings and muttering to himself. He sighed and pulled off his glasses to rub at his eyes. "There's a reason I dropped Spanish in high school. Natasha," he called to her from his position on the worn couch. "Can you read this?"

She left her half-cleaned handgun on the kitchen table and settled on the sofa next to him. "It's a list of job qualifications," she translated easily. Spanish was a breeze compared to half the languages she'd been made to learn over the years. "Medical degree, lots of references, position open to students…" She paused and glanced at him. "You're looking at clinic work?"

"Just trying to do something worthwhile," he said with a half shrug. "I spent years doing odd jobs and factory work," he trailed off and looked tired. "I'd rather not have that kind of life again. Monotony isn't great for me." She thought back to his words on the helicarrier so long ago. _I got low. I didn't see an end… so I put a bullet in my mouth and the Other Guy spit it out._

Distant horror slid down her spine like a trail of ice water and she nodded. "Right." She held out her hands and Bruce surrendered the laptop. She adjusted his search parameters a little and found a list of clinics looking for volunteers. "Start at the bottom," she explained as she passed the computer back to him. "In a position that doesn't have all that many qualifications. They'll see how good you are and then you can rely on word of mouth to get the better jobs. You need people to support you and trust you to get the good positions. That takes time and planning."

"But what about money-"

"I've got that covered for now. And you've got some birthday money left," she said with a smirk. Bruce looked torn between laughing and protesting, and Natasha headed him off. "There are benefits to teamwork, Bruce. Enjoy them."

"All right," he agreed after a moment. A look of mischief crossed his face as he turned back to the computer. "I guess I can be a trophy husband," he said to the screen as he scrolled through the volunteer positions. Natasha couldn't help herself; she laughed.

* * *

It didn't take very long for Bruce's mechanical and medical skills to garner notice. His practical skills were stellar and, when paired with his kind bedside manner, he was becoming increasingly popular among the clinic patients. He was also frequently asked for by name when a house call was required for patients who couldn't make the trip into the city. He took the house calls whenever he could, and made a fair amount of money for his trouble, but Natasha suspected that he refused payment on many occasions as well. But she didn't press him for details; she enjoyed the look of contentment that he wore more and more frequently.

The look was becoming so familiar to her that his disgruntled expression on one particular evening came as something of a shock. She came home late into the evening after a grueling security detail and found Bruce dozing on the upstairs sofa. He had developed the adorable habit of waiting up for her when she worked late, and Natasha was always moved by the simple gesture.

"Hey," she whispered, careful as always not to startle him. "I'm home." He woke up, smiled and kissed her like he usually did, but she could feel his distraction and tension simmering behind the affection. She studied the line between his brows when he sat down. "What happened?" she asked.

"How did you know-" he paused and shook his head. "Nevermind. I…" he sighed. "I'm terrible with Spanish and it's becoming a real problem for me. I spent twenty minutes today just trying to ask what was wrong and I couldn't understand what they were trying to tell me…" He scrubbed his face with his hands and rested his forehead heavily against his fingertips. "Have you ever had something that you were really awful at?" he began again, lifting his face to look at her. "I was always terrible with languages. Aced pretty much everything else, but languages…" he sighed. "Languages just never clicked with me."

Natasha was in two minds about whether to commiserate… or to laugh. "You poor genius," she said after a moment. "Something was hard for you?" Bruce's response was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah. It was - is - terrible." She sat down beside him and he settled his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his hands.

"I could help you," she said after a moment. "If you wanted. Languages are my thing. Well," she corrected herself, "one of my things." (Although sometimes she wondered if it was actually a predisposition or just a product of long conditioning. She wasn't always sure what was her and what was the Red Room.)

"Would you?" he asked with palpable relief, shattering the suddenly dark thrust of her thoughts. "I could really use it. I'm lost out there," he muttered and looked so bewildered that Natasha put a supportive hand on his arm.

"Don't worry, Bruce. We can get you whipped into shape."

* * *

Bruce, Natasha soon discovered, had a mind that thrived on facts and figures and memorized them with ease. He understood the pieces of machinery both mechanical and biological with a shocking lack of effort, and he saw in an instant how things worked and fit together. His mind could also twist easily toward the abstract, but apparently the rarefied planes of nuclear physics and biochemistry required far different skills than those necessary to gain traction with a new language. He had a much harder time adapting to the fluidity of vocabulary and the loosely woven connections of sentence structure. Language was very like ballet in her mind, or like the controlled movements of the trained fighter: fluid, shifting, connecting in a million subjective branches. It had always made sense to her. It was harder for Bruce and his progress was slow.

"Okay," he said one night when Natasha had pulled out the vocabulary book despite his protests. " _Soy un doctor._ "

"Yes," she affirmed. "And?"

" _Dónde duele? Cuál es el problema?_ "

She replied with a string of physical complaints in Spanish and Bruce hesitantly picked apart her words and translated them. He did very well, only missing the part where she had described being shot in the head and it wasn't as if _that_ was going to be a regular occurrence for his patients.

"Not bad," she complimented, tossing the book aside. Bruce's look of relief was instantaneous. "Thank goodness," he muttered. "I need a break. Actually, we could both use one." He leaned forward. "How do you say 'Would you have dinner with me?'"

" _Vas a cenar conmigo?_ " she supplied.

"And at a restaurant? A fancy one?" he added.

" _Vas a cenar conmigo a un restaurante caro?_ "

He repeated the question to her haltingly, but correctly. " _Sí._ " she answered with a smile.

"Good," he replied. "Um, I mean _bueno._ " He paused and his face grew thoughtful. "How do you say 'thank you for helping me'?"

She supplied the words again, and again he repeated them back.

"How do you say 'you're beautiful'?" he asked in a quiet voice. She was tempted to say " _eres un idiota_ ," but the sincerity in his eyes made her heart clench. She gave him the correct words.

" _Eres hermosa_ ," he repeated, staring at her with a half smile. "And how…" he hesitated for a moment, but she saw the determination awake behind his eyes. "How do you say 'I love you'?"

She couldn't think of the words for a moment, because for a moment she couldn't think at all. A strange, buoyant feeling rose in her chest, terrifying and almost painful, pressing against her ribs with every beat of her pulse. They had spoken an approximation of those words in the past weeks ( _I adore you_ ), and she knew how he felt about her after seeing the way he looked at her and feeling the way he touched her, but somehow… somehow this moment felt important. No one had ever spoken those exact words to her, not with real feeling and conviction behind them. They seemed almost mystical, a powerful incantation to speak into being… or a powerful curse. Maybe that was why she had to work to unlock her jaw and force the words past her suddenly dry lips. " _Te amo._ "

Bruce absorbed that and nodded. "Better save that one," he said with a secretive smile. "For the right moment, I mean." He stood up, brushed a kiss against her head, and walked up the stairs. His footsteps crossed into the bedroom and the house fell silent. Natasha sat in the living room and wondered distantly at her feeling of disappointment.

* * *

Bruce went to bed before Natasha that night, and she delayed a little longer than usual before pulling on her sleep shirt and shorts and climbing into their bed. She had been staring at the moon in silence for only a few seconds when she felt Bruce shift beside her. He reached for her, wrapping an arm around her stomach and settling himself against her back. "I hope this is an okay moment, because I don't think I can wait after all…" he whispered just behind her ear. " _Te amo_ , Natasha." He pressed a gentle kiss to her neck. "I love you."

Her mind stuttered to a halt and in the sudden haze Natasha suddenly remembered a cold street in Budapest where she had once seen Clint lodge an arrow directly into a enemy combatant's heart. The arrow had buried itself deep in his chest, but it had given a single lurch as the man's heart convulsed one last time. It was all over after that. She thought as she lay with Bruce's arms around her and those words ringing in her ears like the flight of an arrow, that she had an idea of what that must have felt like. Her heart was pierced instantly, his words striking deeper and truer than any other words ever had, brushing against deep places she hadn't known existed and stirring something new and foreign into life. Her eyes prickled just a little, shocking her, but she suppressed the sting of the tears and reached instead for the warmth swelling in her like a sun-kissed tide.

Of course, she had one thing to get off her chest first.

" _Eres un idiota_ ," she grumbled. But she turned towards him and kissed him senseless so she was confident that he understood what she meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… I'm not a smut writer. Don't hate me! I know a lot of people love that sort of thing in their OTP-tastic fics and, hey, it's great when it's done well… but I am in no way confident of my ability to write that element of their relationship in a way that doesn't make us all die, puke, or both, so I'm going to leave that to all our overactive imaginations lol. Besides, as a fic writer I'm more interested in the beats of their developing relationship and the disgustingly fluffy moments that might happen.
> 
> About Bruce's language difficulties… I was having too much fun with that lol. He does have to pick up a few different languages over the course of the MCU movies, and I was intrigued by the fact that he was having trouble with Portuguese during his time in Brazil in The Incredible Hulk. That was a great idea, I thought, and it led to one of the funniest scenes in the movie ("You won't like me when I'm hungry… wait, that's not right."). It's also an interesting idea that Bruce is such a genius and a world-renowned expert scientifically speaking… but he must have some weaknesses, right? What better weakness than language, the very thing he is forced to learn? I also think that as someone so extensively trained in the sciences, that language might be harder to pin down since it doesn't always conform to patterns. Language is a lot like music in my mind: there are established forms and patterns and ideas… but occasionally all that goes out the window, and you can only learn how to really communicate through long experience. I don't imagine that Bruce had extensive musical OR language training in his academic life, at least not until he was on the run and had to pick up languages to survive. (Side note: according to my googling, there are actually plenty of English books available in stores and libraries in Lima, hence Bruce's book obsession lol.)
> 
> Also, please forgive my Spanish. I took Spanish in high school and college… but it's been years. I relied on my rusty knowledge and Google translate (which is always celebrated for its accuracy, right?!), but if I've made a mistake, bring it to my attention so I can edit! Thanks for bearing with me.
> 
> The "screwdriver for breakfast" is a reference to the backstory I concocted in my first BruceNat fic "Blank Walls, Empty Spaces." (Ah, the fond memories of my initial spiral into BruceNat insanity…) So I guess I'm treating that as my own personal canon.
> 
> Finally, I have to mention that Natasha's response to Bruce's "te amo" was partially based on a couple I knew who always amused me with their interactions. The girl was not exactly touchy-feely and the guy was a super sweet dork who occasionally said incredibly cheesy and romantic things. The girl's initial response would invariably be to roll her eyes and say something about him being a loser or something equally deprecating… but then she would melt and give him a kiss or something else sweet because she loved him and because he was genuine in his cheesy affection. Their dynamic reminded me a little of Natasha and Bruce, so I thought I would incorporate it. Natasha has such a hard shell and she had no experience with genuine romantic affection, so it would be foreign to her. But she responds to Bruce, we see that clearly in Age of Ultron. Even Steve comments on it. ("With you she seems very relaxed.") So how would she handle expressions of love and affection? This is what I came up with.


	4. Appearances

The sun was rising when Natasha woke the next morning. She knew immediately what had wakened her; Bruce's attempts to be quiet when he woke up first were sweet, but always ineffective. Of course, it was difficult to be stealthy when sleeping next to a lifelong spy. She rolled towards the rustling of clothes to find Bruce buttoning his shirt. It was the pale yellow one that looked awfully good on him. He hadn't combed his hair yet, so it was still a pile of sleep-mussed curls. He was also sporting a scruffy jaw, so wherever he was headed, it was in a hurry. Bruce finally caught her eye.

"Sorry," he whispered. "Did I wake you?"

She didn't want to lie _or_ make him feel guilty so she sidestepped the question altogether. "Where are you going?" she asked instead.

"Got an early text from the clinic. They're referring someone who needs a house call not too far from here…apparently they can't make it to the city to see a doctor. They asked for a volunteer." He shrugged, as though his waking up at the crack of dawn to help a patient in the middle of nowhere for probably no pay was the obvious choice. She felt something warm swell in her chest as she stared at him. Sometimes she thought the man would have a decent shot at a sainthood if he was Catholic.

"C'mere," she said quietly. Bruce finished his last button and sat on the edge of the bed beside her. She tugged him down into a kiss. He groaned in the back of his throat.

"You're making it hard to leave…" he murmured, but immediately kissed her again, more insistently this time. She smiled against his lips and finally pulled back enough to look him in the eye.

"Go be a hero," she whispered, and gave him one last, chaste kiss. Bruce smiled his genuine smile and grabbed his medical bag as he stood up.

"Dinner later?" he asked as he headed for the door. "I made reservations in the city. Wouldn't want to make a bad impression on my date."

"Date?" she asked with a smirk. "Who said I was going out with you?"

"You did. No take-backs."

"Fine," she sighed. "I'm expecting the time of my life."

Bruce grinned. "I'll text you the address," he called over his shoulder.

"Hey, Bruce," she called to him. He paused in the doorway. "I love you." He ducked his head reflexively (embarrassment came as easily as breathing to a great big dork like him), but his smile was as luminous as the sunlight pouring through the window.

"Also, you might want to comb your hair before you go," she added after a moment. Bruce smiled sheepishly and reached for the comb.

* * *

Natasha found her way to an extremely exclusive restaurant in the center of the city. It was the sort of place where even the air smelled expensive, and she was faintly impressed by the fact that Bruce had gone to the trouble of finding such a nice place. He didn't generally have expensive tastes.

She was escorted to a table for two immediately, and the candle in what looked like a handblown glass holder was already burning. Golden ambient light flowed from all around and was filtered through a stencil from above to produce a flowery design on the glossy table. Decorative herb gardens lined the walls at distant intervals and every few moments a white-clad member of the kitchen staff would appear with tiny scissors to supply the chefs. The distant bar was stocked with every imaginable size and shape of liquor bottle and the golden ambience from all directions lit the shelves of colored glass with a warm glow like Christmas lights. Natasha raised an eyebrow. This wasn't Bruce's style at all.

As if summoned by her puzzled thoughts, Bruce appeared a moment later. "You made it," he said, slightly out of breath. "I drove by a couple of times before I finally figured out where this place was…" She stood up to kiss him and he trailed off and stared at her dress. Natasha suppressed a smirk.

She had realized earlier in the day that Bruce had only rarely seen her in anything resembling evening wear and had subsequently blown a hole in her latest paycheck at the nearest boutique. It was a simple low-cut black dress that was more elegance than show, but if his expression was any indication, it got the job done. "Um…" he said after a moment. "You look great."

"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself." And it was true. On the all-too-rare occasions when Bruce donned a suit and tie, she had always thought it was a great look for him.

Their waiter swooped down on them the instant they were both seated and Natasha had a full wine glass in her hand a moment later. Bruce contemplated his elaborately decorated goblet in mute appreciation.

"You going to stare at it or drink it?" she prodded after a moment.

"Sorry," he laughed, raising his glass in a toast. "Here's looking at you, kid."

Natasha shook her head at him and took a sip. "You're such…"

"…a great date?" Bruce interjected.

"…a loser," Natasha finished flatly. "But I love you anyway." She smiled as she stood up and moved to stand behind him, sliding an arm around his shoulders. "Be right back." She pressed a kiss to his cheek and went in search of the ladies' room.

* * *

She returned to find Bruce studying the menu with a faint look of confusion. "Oh thank goodness," he said when she sat down. "I can't understand half the stuff on this menu. I guess we should add more food to my vocabulary list." He paused and glanced at her curiously. "Did you have to use the ladies' room or is there some secret intrigue that I don't know about?"

"Oh, you know, places to go, people to assassinate," she replied with a shrug. Bruce stared.

"Kidding, Bruce. I didn't have a chance to scope out the restaurant as thoroughly as I wanted the first time through, so I decided that a bathroom trip slash recon run was in order. We're both on a lot of hit lists…." She noticed his incredulous look and trailed off. "What?"

"You're…"

"… a great date?" she echoed with a smirk.

"…scary," he corrected. "But I love you anyway."

Maybe it was the dim lights or Bruce's suit-and-tie combo or his ridiculous remarks (or all of the above), but Natasha had the immediate urge to initiate a make out session. The waiter appeared to inquire about whether they were ready to order, and Natasha shook off her flustered feeling to ask for a few more minutes, inwardly cursing the rules of PDA all the while. She and Bruce were just barely able to swing a night out on the town without coming onto somebody's radar; she couldn't risk attracting unwanted attention by such a blatant public display of affection. People noticed stuff like that, and even worse, they remembered it. And she and Bruce needed to be forgettable in a crowd. After all the times she had used PDA to her advantage for distraction purposes, she might've known that it would come back to bite her one day — karma and all that. Frowning at her menu in frustration, she channeled her energy into translating the menu for Bruce.

In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Steve Rogers laughing at her.

* * *

Bruce suggested a walk on the beach after dinner and Natasha wondered how he could make something so disgustingly sentimental sound so appealing. The nearest beach was a small strip of sand uncomfortably sandwiched between a manmade ridge and the sea with a two-way street trailing down from the city and cramping the beach even further. Normally the sand would be infested with tourists, but the hour was late, the air was cool, and the beach was nearly deserted. Natasha held her shoes in one hand and Bruce reached for the other.

"So," she said after a few moments of listening to the waves wash over the sand. "Why all…" She gestured around them. "…this?"

Bruce shrugged and Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. He had a way of being annoyingly opaque sometimes. Of course, even such a determinedly closed book could be opened, and Bruce had opened up more and more in the past months. Natasha listened to the waves, breathed in the clean, salty scent of the sea air, and waited.

"I just wanted to do something special for you after the way you've been helping me with, well, everything. And for…" He trailed off and stared at the sand for a long moment. "For being here," he said, finally. "I was alone for so long and I got used to it. I even thought it wasn't so bad, but now…" He gripped her hand a little tighter. "Now I can't remember how I did it. I can't imagine you not being here."

Natasha felt the once-foreign rush of warmth that Bruce so often inspired in her and she stepped closer to him. "Hey," she said quietly, waiting for him to meet her gaze. "I want to be here."

"I know," he answered in a whisper. "But…thank you." She was glad for the cover of night because it meant she could be a little reckless. She dropped her shoes, slid her hand to his face, and kissed him deeply. "Yeah," Bruce breathed when she pulled back, "I really don't remember how I did it."

"This," he nodded at the beach and glanced toward the faint glow of the city lights behind them, "Here, with you…I never thought life would be like this, after the Other Guy. Happy, I mean."

"So you're happy?" she asked, distantly confused by the sudden tightness in her chest. Was she worried about his answer? He spoke before she had a chance to untangle the feeling.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I am." His earnest expression shifted into something a little more playful and he smiled at her. "I didn't think happiness would look like Natasha Romanoff."

"It's not going to look like much of anything if you keep dropping my real name in public," she said flatly. But the beach was empty and she didn't even try to prevent her answering smile. "If it makes you feel any better, I didn't think that happiness would look like you either," she said with a wry twist of her lips. "It's too bad Fury didn't send me after you sooner." They turned to follow their trail of footprints back through the moonlit sand towards the car.

"It's probably a good thing I didn't meet you earlier," Bruce commented thoughtfully as they walked. "I would have thought you were way out of my league."

"Aim for the stars, Bruce," she retorted. "Anyway, I would have thought you were out of my league, too."

Bruce glanced over at her in shock. "Really?"

She pretended to consider. "Well, _below_ my league…"

Bruce grinned. "Ouch. True, though."

His self-deprecation made its grand entrance at last. Natasha was starting to consider his attitude towards himself as her arch-nemesis.

"I would have been wrong," she said firmly. Bruce squeezed her hand and smiled.

They walked hand in hand on the beach and Natasha thought distantly that it was all as terribly clichéd as she had feared with the sand and the waves and the moonlight…but she found that she didn't mind.

She glanced over at Bruce, and he was staring up at the stars. His eyes were gilded with silver by the light and she halted their progress so he could look. She studied his face in silence and decided that happiness _did_ look like Bruce Banner, whether she had expected that or not.

* * *

The road home was dark when the city lights faded behind them. The long miles away from any street lights made driving at night a precarious business on the unmarked and only occasionally paved roads. Bruce kept the headlights at their brightest setting and slowed down as the darkness increased. Natasha smiled; she could always count on him to be cautious.

"Dinner was good," she commented as they bounced along the rough road. "I should date you more often."

Bruce glanced over at her with a smile. "You didn't know you were missing out all those years you weren't my girlfriend, did you?"

"Intelligence indicated that you were a loser at the time," she replied flatly. "And a fugitive," she added. "I was trying to go straight back then, and I didn't need a bad influence." Bruce laughed.

"Maybe we could do lunch this weekend," he said thoughtfully. "I don't have clinic duty, but I might go into the city to get a haircut — what?" He interrupted himself when Natasha stiffened.

"You're getting a haircut?" she asked carefully.

"Yeah. Why?" Bruce divided his attention between her and the road, casting bewildered glances at both.

"I like your hair."

"It's getting really long—"

"I like it."

"But—"

"It's cute."

"Oh. Um…so no haircut?" he asked, and the beginnings of a smug smile showed on his face.

"Let's just say that if you cut your hair, I'll be the one who needs a lullaby."

"Yikes," Bruce commented.

"You won't like me when I'm angry, Bruce." He sighed dramatically and Natasha smirked.

"Is no one ever going to let that go?" he asked with the air of a martyr. "I said that one time."

Natasha snorted. "Ha. More like five."

"For what it's worth, I'd still like you when you were angry…"

"Don't change the subject," she reprimanded. Bruce gave one of his most ingratiating smiles and Natasha was tempted to let him change the subject to something less embarrassing, but she hadn't quite decided…

Bruce opened his mouth to speak…

She never found out what he was going to say.

Suddenly Natasha couldn't see. Her vision blinked out as the sound of crunching metal screeched in her ears. Gravity upended and she felt like she was flying or falling but she couldn't tell which…her vision and the pull of gravity returned to her all at once, and she found herself staring at her hands and hair hanging around her face. Blood rushed in her ears and she felt pressure building in her head as she realized that she was hanging upside down with only the seatbelt holding her in place. She squinted through the cracked windshield; at the edge of the headlights' glare, she saw the gravel road disappear underneath the fallen trunk of a tree.

Aside from a few bruises that ached adamantly, Natasha could tell that she was fine. No broken bones, no head trauma. "Bruce?" she asked immediately, turning her head toward him with difficulty.

His eyes were screwed shut and his hands were balled into fists that he pressed tightly against his skull.

Oh no.

"Okay," she said in what she hoped was a calm voice. "Hang on, Bruce. I'm going to get you out…" She reached for the knife she always kept in a thigh sheath, and managed after a moment's difficulty to slide it free. Slicing through the seatbelt was the work of a moment; she fell onto the roof of the car with a bruising _thud_ and hissed as a few shards of glass ground into her palms and knees. She shook off the rush of dizziness and reached for Bruce, laying a hand on his tightly coiled arm.

"Hey," she whispered, rubbing at his arm as she tried to decide on the best way to cut him down. "Stay with me, Bruce…" He groaned and opened his eyes just slightly.

They were a vibrant, glowing green.

Not good.

"Okay," she murmured, positioning the knife near the buckle. "It's okay. We're okay. I'm going to get you down now — brace yourself." She wasn't sure he could hear her; he didn't move.

She broke his fall as best she could, and slid her arm around his shoulder to help him out of the car. He twisted away instantly, and his arm collided with the closed door. It bent, buckled, and burst free of the hinges and locks holding it in place. He scrambled out of the car and flung out his hand, palm facing her when she moved to follow. She could see him convulsing, and her heart clenched. The transformation has begun; he might just have to ride this out until she could talk him down. At least they were out here, away from the city — it wasn't a disaster. She hated for him to be so distressed, but they would be okay…

She heard the distant engine just before the flash of another pair of headlights bled over and under the fallen tree that had caused their accident. Her heart rate spiked until she could feel the pounding of her pulse.

Really, _really_ not good.

She crawled free of the wreck and settled on her knees in front of Bruce's huddled form. "Bruce, look at me," she whispered. "Look at me!"

He raised his head, and the green eyes were filled with dread.

"Natasha…" he groaned in a voice brimming with pain and panic. They were stuck out here with hapless civilians that the Big Guy didn't know (and even if they weren't hurt all it would take would be one witness and their life here would be over) and she herself hadn't seen the Big Guy in months, hadn't tried the lullaby in months — and what if the process got rusty with disuse? — and none of this was ideal, but they had no options. She set her jaw.

"Listen to me," she breathed, laying a hand on either side of his face and resting her forehead against his. "Stay with me," she insisted quietly, and pressed her lips against his. She felt his sudden intake of breath, his panicked muscle spasms as he kept his shaking hands far away from where they could do any harm — far away from her. She reached for his hands without breaking the kiss and slid her fingers slowly and steadily across his palms in a way they had done so many times (but never quite like this). She locked their fingers together and felt his shaking hands grow still. She broke the kiss at last and looked frantically at his eyes.

They were the usual warm brown.

Bruce stared at her in shock. "I love you," he managed in a tight, breathless voice. She finally let herself breathe and hugged him fiercely. Bruce's answering grip was like a vice.

"Uh… _necesita ayuda?_ " came an incredulous voice from behind her. She laughed and it was a cracked sort of sound.

" _Estamos bien_ ," she replied in a firmer voice. She glanced back at Bruce who was dirty and shaken, but definitely okay. " _Muy bien_."

* * *

With the help of their good samaritan, who turned out to be a middle-aged man named Emilio, they managed to tow the tree trunk from the road. He offered them a ride as well, and between the ache in her legs and Bruce's shaky state, she didn't feel able to refuse. Bruce took the backseat on the passenger side, determined to keep as much distance between himself and the driver as possible. Natasha sighed and settled herself beside him, immediately tucking herself into his side.

"Good luck escaping _this_ human contact, Bruce," she whispered. The ghost of a smile crossed his face. "I don't mind contact with you," he replied. Natasha threaded her fingers through his and kept a tight grip on his hand for the duration of the ride. She directed Emilio to the turnoff that would lead to their house. He tried to insist on taking them right up to the door, but Natasha was already uncomfortable with the fact that they had taken a stranger this far.

" _Estamos bien_ ," she repeated until he finally gave up. She kept a supportive arm around Bruce as they trudged up the gravel road under the canopy of trees. Moonlight trickled through the branches in weak and occasional streams; when Emilio pulled away, the night was almost purely black.

"I'm sorry, Natasha," Bruce said in a weary voice that she hadn't heard in a very long time. She hated that tone.

"You didn't make the tree fall, Bruce," she replied firmly.

"No, but I certainly crashed into it."

"Could've happened to anyone," she deflected immediately and hoped fervently that he would stop his mission to take all the blame in the world on himself.

"Yeah," he admitted. "But it happened to me. Things like that can't happen to me — I can't let them. What might have happened if I had lost control there? How many people would I have hurt? Or _killed_ —"

"Stop," she said in a tone that brooked no arguments. "You can't do this to yourself every time you have a close call. You can't always control what happens—none of us can. So relax, Bruce. Besides," she added with a smile that was invisible in the dark. "You've got me."

"It's not fair to expect you to shoulder this responsibility—"

"What's not fair is for you to keep assuming that I don't know what I'm doing," she interrupted. "I knew what I was signing up for the first time I tried the lullaby. And I decided to keep doing it. And I decided to run away with you because you needed some time to trust yourself again — and that's okay. It's _all_ okay. So for my sake, Bruce, and more importantly, for your own sake…lighten up."

They slogged through the gravel in silence for a few beats, but she could feel the steady way his muscles were loosening. "I'm still sorry for what happened," he said after a moment.

"It's okay," she shrugged back. "It might have been nice to see the Big Guy, actually. It's been a while. I miss him."

"That's a first," Bruce laughed in the curiously bitter way he sometimes did when the Other Guy was involved. "Nobody's ever said that about _him_ before. Should I be jealous?"

"I don't think it's possible to be jealous of yourself, Bruce," she said quietly. She felt the moment her remark landed; his muscles turned to steel.

"The Other Guy isn't me," he said in a voice that was vaguely angry and infinitely tired.

"Bruce," she began gently, "You're a smart guy and I love you…but I've always thought that you were wrong about that." Bruce absorbed her remark in stiff silence. He was always difficult when it came to the Big Guy, but she noted with satisfaction that he didn't try to argue the point. Maybe one day he might be able to see what she saw — that the Big Guy wasn't so bad.

The blurred outline of their house appeared at last and Natasha steered them towards the door. She slid from under his arm to fish for her key and unlock the door; she was pleasantly surprised when Bruce reached for her hand the moment she finished. She hoped he might absorb a little of her confidence through the connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted them to go on a cheesy date, okay? And I wanted there to be a Hulk-out scare and a highly romantic lullaby. And most of all, I wanted a reference to Mark Ruffalo's fabulous hair which Natasha would no doubt appreciate very much. Because seriously — it's beautiful. DON'T JUDGE ME.


	5. Places

The nightmare surfaced as unexpectedly as a corpse rising from the lightless depths of a lake. She had weighted down the memories of the Red Room for so long and with such determination that she could almost forget them sometimes, could almost pretend that those faded memories weren't even hers — that they were just a bad horror movie she had seen long ago. But like every other piece of reality, the memories would only submit to her efforts for a finite period before they emerged again, reeking with the stench of trauma and old pain, and she would have to work hard to push them back down again. The nightmares happened at unexpected intervals and she always rode out the storm, but she hadn't awakened in a cold sweat in all the months since she and Bruce had left the Avengers. As usual, the nightmares returned when she least expected them, as though they delighted in reminding her that there was no escape for her, that the taint she carried with her was permanent.

She woke gasping for air, with her heart racing as if she had just run for miles with a predator on her heels. Her hands shook and her eyes stung; she fixed both problems by balling her fists and pressing them into her eye sockets. She focused on breathing quietly and evenly.

She forced her mind to focus on the room around her, the moonlight spilling across the floor like liquid silver, the curtains drifting lazily around the cracked window, the stacks of Bruce's books that rested on every surface.

_Deep breaths_ , she told herself. _Let it drain away._

She usually couldn't sleep after this sort of incident; the images plastered themselves to the backs of her eyelids and danced in her mind until daylight and exhaustion burned them out again. She might have to retreat downstairs so he wouldn't disturb Bruce…

"Natasha?"

Bruce's voice was thick with sleep, but she could still hear his concern. "What's wrong?" She didn't answer immediately — she had only just woken and she couldn't quite think of a way to say "I had a nightmare about killing people and being violated in every conceivable way" without making it sound bad — and Bruce sat up. "Hey," he tried again, and his hand rested gently against her tense forearm. "Are you okay?" She was shaking and the dream was still hanging in front of her eyes and she needed to be alone to deal with it. She had always been alone to deal with this sort of thing, she needed to be alone…

She needed…

"No," she answered in a small, tight voice. She didn't know what else to say, how to explain that she was hurting everywhere like she always did when her brain dredged up the memories of screams and tears and blood and tightly drawn faces that said "sloppy," because she didn't want to be cut open. But they had done nothing except cut her open and pull out the parts they didn't want and rearrange everything else in her mind, her heart, her _body_ …

She had to be alone.

She had just decided to slip away and let Bruce sleep when he wrapped an arm around her and tugged her gently against his chest. "It's okay," he whispered. "I'm sorry for whatever that was…but it's okay now."

"Nightmares," she whispered, and she hated the fact that her voice came out as thin and breakable as glass.

Bruce's chin rested on her head and she felt his jaw tighten. "Bad?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," she answered. Relief flooded her when he didn't ask for details. Bruce understood the value of silence more than most.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and kissed her hair. She released the tension in her muscles enough to wrap her arms around him and let out a deep breath. He rubbed her back gently and she felt the shaking in her hands fade as her heart slowed. "Do you want to go back to sleep?" he asked after several silent moments had passed. "Because we can stay up for a while if you want. I've got some movies we haven't watched…" She managed a faint laugh. "What?" he asked.

"You have work tomorrow," she reminded him.

"So I'll call in. I'm not going to sleep until you do," he said. She couldn't see his face while she rested against his sternum, but she could imagine the stubborn look he was wearing quite clearly.

"It's really okay," she said. "I'll be okay."

"I know you will," he answered in a quiet voice. "But you don't have to do everything alone. Isn't that what you're always telling me?"

"Using my own arguments against me?" she asked with a weak attempt at a stern tone. "That's low."

"Effective, though." He sounded completely confident, and it was such a rare sound that Natasha smiled.

"Alright, you win," she acceded. "But no complaining when you're tired tomorrow."

"Natasha," Bruce began, "You can keep me awake any time you want." He paused for a moment. "That sounded better in my head," he said at last. Natasha smirked.

"You're half-asleep so I'll give you a pass," she offered.

"Thanks." She could feel his smile against her hair. "Are you hungry?" he asked after a moment. "Sometimes eating something can help settle the nerves after a nightmare. I can make you something... Nothing weird or off-recipe, I promise. How about some scrambled eggs?"

She decided that she was going to kiss him later when she could focus properly. "Let's try and go back to sleep," she said and Bruce kept a tight grip on her as he lowered them both against the pillows. He stroked her hair lightly and rhythmically and Natasha felt her muscles unlocking at last. She rested her head against his chest and her quick breaths deepened and fell into sync with his.

"Natasha," he said. "I don't know how much it helps with stuff like this, but I hope you know…you've got me. I'm not much, but I'm good against nightmares." He smiled down at her.

_You've got me._ "Using my words again," she remarked lightly.

He shrugged. "They were good words. I thought you deserved to hear them too. But I'll stop plagiarizing you if you want." He grinned.

"No," she said quietly. "Keep it up." She raised her head to press a kiss against his jaw. When she settled again, she felt the hazy press of sleep at the edges of her mind, but it held no panic. She drifted off to the rhythm of Bruce's breaths.

* * *

Natasha woke to find the bed cold and empty beside her. Bruce had actually managed to make it out of the room without waking her up. She wasn't sure if she was more disturbed by his stealth or by how exhausted she must have been to allow it. She focused on the warmth of the sun on her skin and tried to ignore the heavy feeling that had settled over her at Bruce's absence. That was the only unpleasant thing about being so used to his presence — the difficulty she was developing with the lack of it.

She felt the vibration from downstairs before she could ruminate any further and her eyes snapped open. She listened hard; the sounds of footsteps and the scrape of silverware in the kitchen below traveled through the old beams of the house like tremors in a spider's web. But the shuffling of the steps was immediately familiar and she relaxed again. A quick glance at the clock confirmed that it was well past the usual time Bruce left for the clinic. He was staying home with her.

Dork.

Of course, the person suffering from nightmares was probably the bigger loser, but there was absolutely no way she was going to tell _him_ that. Besides, he would only argue the point.

Regardless, a smile crept across her face.

* * *

"You're awake," Bruce said in surprise (as always). He adjusted his grip on the plate of food he held in one hand and stepped into the room, careful not to jostle the two cups of coffee he was balancing in the other. "I made you some breakfast," he explained as he settled one mug on the table beside her. He deposited the plate filled with scrambled eggs and toast next to that. "I didn't burn the toast," he said with a grin.

"Only because I wasn't there to distract you," she replied with a faint smile.

"Too bad," he answered. "I like being distracted." He searched her face carefully as she reached for the steaming mug and took a sip. It was the perfect temperature and it was delicious. She could say one thing for Bruce's cooking — he made a great cup of coffee.

"How are you?" Bruce asked gently, interrupting her thoughts.

"Just fine," she answered, ignoring the fact that she still felt shaky and gray after the night before. Bruce looked very unconvinced, but he nodded.

"Well, I took the day off, so I guess you'll just have to deal with me for the day," he said with studied nonchalance.

"If that's the cross I have to bear," she replied with an air of long-suffering, but relief at the thought of _not_ facing the day alone welled up inside her. "Did you already eat?"

"Yeah—"

"Too bad, because you're going to help me finish this."

She pulled the plate into her lap and shifted to make room for him beside her. He settled next to her and she realized that Bruce, in his usual irritating fashion, had anticipated her.

He already held an extra fork.

* * *

"Why are we working when we could be doing this all the time?" Bruce asked a few hours later. The sun was high in the sky and they were stretched out on a blanket beside the pond, the remains of a picnic lunch beside them. Natasha was surrounded with fragrant grass and sleepy warmth and it took some effort to focus on his words enough to understand them.

"If only," she muttered. "Bruce, I know you're a scientist and your head is supposed to be in the land of the abstract, but it's really time that you understood that there's this thing called money…" she trailed off and turned her head to smirk at him.

Beside her, Bruce laughed. "You're right. What would I do without you?" He sat up and his eyes fell on the pond with purpose. "Okay, here's a _not_ abstract idea. Let's go swimming."

"In that?" she asked, glancing at the tiny and very murky pond. "I don't really feel like swimming with mosquito larvae and snakes…but thanks anyway."

"It'll be fun," Bruce insisted, and turned his most charming smile on her. _The_ smile.

Dammit.

"You're just trying to get me into a bikini," she stalled.

"You have a bikini?" he asked hopefully.

"I'm going to hurt you," she muttered, but keeping her smile at bay was becoming increasingly difficult.

"Good thing I'm invulnerable to any attacks," he countered with a grin. He was unusually chipper, she thought in irritation. But her resolve was slipping.

Well, she decided, getting Bruce shirtless for an extended period of time wasn't a terrible idea…

Natasha surrendered with a sigh.

* * *

The pond wasn't quite as disgusting as she feared, and the water actually felt wonderful once the midday heat reached its peak.

"I told you it would be fun," Bruce said triumphantly.

"Don't let it go to your head," she chided flatly.

He actually _splashed_ her.

* * *

Natasha trudged out of the murky water and stretched out on the blanket to dry in the sun. Bruce collapsed beside her a moment later and gave her a quick kiss before flopping onto his back.

"You taste like pond scum," she said thoughtfully. "Romantic."

"You know," Bruce replied, "You kind of tasted like pond scum too…"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Point taken. Thanks, though."

She blinked against the sun and turned to face him. "For what?"

"For having fun with me today," he answered with a shrug.

"And here I thought you were babysitting me and my nightmares…"

Bruce shrugged again and smiled in his peculiarly self-deprecating manner. "Two for the price of one, I guess."

They lay in silence for so long that Natasha was almost certain he had fallen asleep.

"You know what's funny?" Bruce remarked suddenly. "Tony once told me that my happy ending would be me on a beach turning brown instead of green, and never having to look over my shoulder."

"Well, Stark isn't _always_ wrong…" she commented with a smirk.

"He was this time."

"What do you mean?"

"This is only good because…because you're here," Bruce confessed quietly, and turned his head to smile at her. She studied the water dripping from his hair and the warmth in his eyes; her heart seized up in what was becoming an annoyingly common fashion where Bruce was involved.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she replied, allowing none of the sudden tenderness into her voice, but she turned and pressed close to him. Bruce shifted to bring his arms around her.

"Are you sure?" he asked, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

"Positive," she answered, and turned her face to kiss him properly.

"Mm, pond scum," he remarked with a grin.

"My threats are still in effect," she replied lightly, but the kisses she was pressing to his face probably weren't helping to sell her story. She settled her cheek against his chest and her mind wandered idly back over his words. Something had caught in her mind, but she wasn't sure what…

…Stark. This was the first time in a long while that he had mentioned Tony.

"You miss Tony," she stated rather than asked.

"What?"

"Tony. You miss him," she repeated patiently.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess I do." He paused for a moment. "I'd miss you more, though."

_Dork_ , she thought fondly.

"Smooth," she replied aloud. His laugh rumbled beneath her ear.

"Despite what Tony says on the subject, I've got game," he said confidently. Bruce frowned when she laughed.

* * *

Afternoon darkened into evening, and it became too chilly to stay outdoors in nothing but swimsuits. They showered and changed and Natasha mourned the moment when Bruce pulled on a shirt, but she decided it was a bearable situation when he opened their shared laptop and announced that they were watching a movie.

"I finally bought _Holiday_ ," he explained, scrolling and clicking with an air of distraction.

Natasha smirked. "One of these days the authorities are going to wise up to the fact that you love old movies and they're going to find us by tracing your downloads," she commented.

"So be it," Bruce said solemnly, but his lips twitched. He placed the computer on the coffee table and settled back against the couch, resting an arm on the back of the sofa to leave space for her beside him. She took the offered seat immediately and when Bruce pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, she burrowed in.

"Are you going to leave any of the blanket for me?" Bruce asked wryly.

"No," she answered without hesitation. But she immediately made a liar of herself and tossed him a corner.

The laptop cast a weak and pallid light across half the living room, and the rest sank into velvet darkness. Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant laughed and struggled and fell in love and Natasha loved how easy it was for her to relax here in the dark with nothing but an black-and-white movie — and somebody _she_ loved. She wondered if she would ever get used to that idea.

She didn't mind, either way.

The ending came, and the characters left together aboard a ship bound for unknown adventures. "We did that," Natasha observed quietly as the credits rolled. "We escaped from everything."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed.

"Do you think they ever went back?" she asked, and wondered if it even mattered. Maybe the escaping was the goal — or maybe the freedom was. Or maybe, in the end, it was their love that mattered.

She wondered if all that might be different facets of the same thing.

"I don't know," Bruce said thoughtfully. "I like to think that they just sailed off and were happy forever."

"Very specific," she said and glanced at him in amusement.

"Well it's a movie," Bruce defended, "So reality kind of spoils it."

"Wasn't that Cary Grant's whole point? That reality was terrible?" She sympathized entirely; it was certainly an opinion that she had toyed with over the years.

Bruce considered. "No," he started slowly, "I think it was the system he was trapped in that was terrible. Hepburn was reality too and she wasn't so bad."

"I hope they found a way to be happy inside reality, then," Natasha answered, and slumped onto Bruce's conveniently placed shoulder. She was warm and the room was quiet; she drifted towards sleep immediately. Just before she slipped away entirely, she heard Bruce's distant whisper.

"Me too."

* * *

Natasha woke with a start to find sunlight trickling weakly through the living room curtains and goosebumps prickling on her arms. She was on high alert immediately, every muscle wound as tightly as a spring ready to snap and she listened hard for what had awakened her.

_Thump._

There it was — a sound overhead, in the sitting room upstairs.

Footsteps, quiet and careful. Stealthy.

Not good.

She glanced at Bruce beside her. Her head was still settled on his shoulder from the night before, and one of his arms rested loosely around her. They were tangled in the blanket and she wasn't positive that she could slip away without alerting the intruder to the fact that they were awake. She scanned the room and confirmed that the closest weapon was the handgun resting on the table in the kitchen…and _past_ the staircase. She set her jaw.

"Bruce," she whispered, rubbing his arm gently. She couldn't risk startling him or making too much noise. "Bruce, wake up." He woke at last, blinking hazily at her.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately. She pressed a finger to her lips and he fell silent. She pointed at the ceiling and Bruce's jaw tightened when he too heard the careful steps overhead, shifting towards the bedroom this time. She slipped from under the blanket (and suppressed a wince when she remembered that she was wearing one of Bruce's shirts and not much else) and padded silently to retrieve her gun. She knew it was loaded, so that was something.

If they were dealing with housebreakers, this would be easy. If they were dealing with a government hit squad, this might be a disaster.

If it was Hydra, then things would really get ugly.

No matter who this was, she couldn't believe they had struck during the day. That alone gave her hope that maybe they were just dealing with a colossally stupid housebreaker. She cocked the gun, pressed her back against the side of the staircase, and found Bruce's eyes. He was sleep-mussed and wide-eyed and not bad looking for a man who had just been abruptly awakened. Something grew tight in her chest and she decided that whatever and whoever this was, she was going to fix it for him. He didn't deserve to have to run again.

"Behind the couch," she mouthed to him, and pointed sharply. He didn't speak, but she saw the disagreement roll over his face like a thunderhead. Standing carefully, he crossed the room with an admirable effort at silence; she only flinched once or twice when he stepped badly and the floor creaked. Natasha glared at him the whole way.

"What are you doing?" she hissed when he finally stood in front of her.

"Let me go first," he whispered.

For a moment, she was completely dumbfounded. Her confusion drained away and surged into anger. " _What?_ " she ground out. "If you've waited until now to pull this chivalry crap, so help me Banner—"

"No, no," he held up his hands as if to ward off an assault. "I'm no good in this sort of fight. What I meant was…I can't be killed. But you can." His eyes pleaded with her to listen. "So please — let me go first, just this once."

He had a point, she recognized distantly. A stray bullet could take her down, but it wouldn't even make it past his skin. Being shot would trigger the Other Guy for sure, but if they were already under attack, that wasn't going to matter in the long run. "Okay," she relented in a whisper. "Slow and silent," she instructed him, and they moved to the foot of the stairs. The footsteps above had gone quiet.

Natasha raised her gun and pointed it over Bruce's shoulder as he walked in front like a human shield. She reminded herself with every step that even the most advanced weaponry of the U.S. military hadn't been able to hurt Bruce. The thought held little comfort as they ascended the stairs. The silence pressed against her like the heat of an oven that might burn her at any moment…

Bruce stood on the last step. He glanced back at her; she caught his eye and nodded. They surged suddenly onto the landing, and Natasha tightened her finger against the trigger as she scanned for the intruder.

She saw him and at the same moment Bruce sucked in a sharp breath.

" _Tony?_ "

"Well don't you two make a cute and murderous couple," Tony declared from his seat on the upstairs couch, his ankles crossed and resting with lazy grace on top of the coffee table. He seemed to realize the rudeness of this posture all at once and stood up immediately. "You two looked so cozy downstairs that I decided not to wake you. I left the suit outside," he commented when he followed her gaze to the window. "Came up the outside stairs. I'm just dropping by — sorry if I caused a ruckus." He glanced pointedly at the gun that Natasha still had trained in his direction.

"It's nice to see you," Bruce said, and the happiness in his voice made it easier to push away her irritation with Stark. She finally lowered the weapon. Tony stepped forward and pulled Bruce into something between a hug and a handshake. "How'd you find us?" Bruce continued.

"I just asked Nick," Tony said with a shrug. "He spies on everybody. Besides, your cover names left a little to be desired. Bruce and Natalie Roberts? Really? I know a kid in Tennessee who could've figured that one out." His gaze wandered across the room and Natasha knew that his air of distraction was a smokescreen; Tony Stark was far more observant than he ever let on.

"Why are you here?" she asked abruptly. Something was off in the restless way he moved. She detected some reluctance lurking underneath his constant energy.

"Always so professional, Ms. Romanoff — sorry, Mrs. Roberts. All work and no play…" he trailed off flippantly, but his shoulders slumped. "Something's come up and Fury wants all hands on deck. It's a guy called Thanos." Tony's eyes filled with the echo of fear she had seen a few times since New York and suddenly she knew what he was going to say next.

"He's an alien."

Bruce stared in shock and Natasha felt a thrill of fear tingling somewhere beneath her ribs. The Chitauri had been horrible enough for one lifetime; she could really do without any more alien invasions.

"Fury thought that we might need the nuclear option,"—Natasha winced at the very insensitive term for the Big Guy and she felt Bruce tense beside her—"So I volunteered to come talk to you. Sorry, Buddy," he finished with a surprisingly genuine ring of contrition in his voice. But just as quickly as Tony's sympathetic side came into view, it disappeared into the wilds again like the rare creature that it was. "I thought I would drop by since I think I'm slightly less annoying than Fury."

"Think again," Natasha muttered and Bruce produced an impressive coughing fit to cover her remark. Tony heard it anyway, but he just smirked. "Fury…" he mused insolently. "Is that his real name or do they just call him that because of how he makes people feel?"

She had to give him that one. A ceasefire was in order, she decided, and with a quick "be right back" in Bruce's direction, she retreated to the bedroom to put the gun away and, more importantly, to find some pants. Besides, Bruce deserved to have a few minutes to catch up with his friend.

She caught snatches of their conversation on the other side of the bedroom door. "You never call, you never write…" complained Tony's voice.

"I email you!" Bruce replied, and she could clearly imagine his look of exasperation. Tony ignored that and continued.

"I just had to see you and Romanoff playing house. Nice digs, by the way. So what have you been doing out here? Besides playing lots of hide the zucchini, I mean." She could almost hear his smirk just as she could almost hear Bruce's blush as he ignored most of what Tony had said and explained about his work at the clinic. She left them in peace for a solid half hour before reemerging.

"There you are, Natalie. I mean Natasha. Force of habit, sorry," Tony said dismissively. He turned back to Bruce. "I'm parched. You don't have a glass of water around, do you?"

Bruce looked suspicious, but he nodded. "Uh…sure. In the kitchen." Tony made no move to follow him and Bruce's face creased with confusion. "I'll just get that," he said, glancing at Natasha. She nodded at him. Bruce descended the stairs and she was alone with Stark.

"Well?" she asked. "What do you want?"

He turned to face her and she blinked. His face was grim and set and he looked more serious than she had ever seen him. "He seems happy," he started in a level tone. "Is he happy?"

Natasha's mind flashed rapidly through the collage of first-class flights, Spanish lessons, burnt toast, Sunday shopping, quiet dinners, and nights spent in Bruce's arms that made up the last several months. "Yeah," she answered honestly. "The happiest I've seen him." Tony's tense expression relaxed into something that hovered between relief and disappointment.

"Good," he said after a moment. He turned away from her to look out the windows facing the front yard. "You guys don't have to come back if you don't want to. We might need you, though, before this is over." He glanced at the stairwell. "Take care of him, huh?" he asked without looking at her.

"I always do," she answered solemnly. If Tony Stark was going to take the trouble to be serious, she figured she could repay him in kind.

"He always did seem happy with you," Tony commented distantly. The somber spell that had fallen over them finally lifted; Tony's manic energy returned to him like the crackle of static electricity and the moment of quiet was over. His shields were back up, so Natasha didn't feel guilty about throwing a few darts his way.

"Answer his emails, Stark," Natasha said pointedly. "I was your assistant — I know you have the time. He misses you. I don't know _why_ he misses you," she added with a smirk, "But he does."

Tony absorbed her words with a look that was half-wounded, half-wry. "Sheath your wit, Agent Romanoff, I come in peace," he protested finally. But he smiled.

Bruce stepped back into the room with a glass of water at last. "Is everybody playing nice in here?" he asked with a knowing look between the two of them. Natasha smirked at him and Bruce sighed.

Tony took the glass of water and downed it in a few swift gulps. "Thanks," he said. "I've gotta jet. There's more assembling to do today. You guys let me know what you decide. And…" he paused and glanced between the two of them. "Good luck. Between you two and Barton, I'm starting to take the whole moving to the middle of nowhere idea seriously." He grinned and descended the stairs. Bruce followed him and she heard their voices through the front windows before the sound of thruster ignition heralded Tony's departure.

Bruce's steps sounded on the stairs and he stood beside her as she stared out the window. "So," he started after a moment's silence. "What do you want to do?"

"We've got a good life here," she said firmly. "There's no need to uproot yourself. Not yet, anyway. Let's see how things play out and we'll go in if we're needed." Bruce was silent beside her and it was unnerving. "What are you thinking?" she asked quietly.

"I'm just wondering if that's what you really want…or if you're saying it for my sake." He spoke gently and warmly…and she loved him. That answered the question, she supposed distantly.

"We want the same thing," she insisted, and it was basically true. There had been a time in the not-so-distant past when a threat to the planet wouldn't have been something she could just let stand, not when there was something she could do about it. But she glanced at Bruce and the urge to _do something_ calmed and settled into a faint uneasiness. She wouldn't force him back into the fray. She had done that once and it had almost destroyed everything they had — she wouldn't do it again.

"What do you think?" she prompted, waiting for him to speak what she already knew, that he was happy here and wanted to stay. And, really, she was content with that. Being with him was enough. If the Avengers needed them they would go, and not before.

"I was thinking that the job's not done," Bruce murmured and he met her gaze.

"Using my words," she said faintly, remembering a ledge and her decision to push him over. She wouldn't do it again.

But who was pushing who today?

"They were good words," Bruce said with a shrug. "So let's go."

"Are you sure?" she asked, staring at him in astonishment. "We've been happy here…"

Bruce's eyes unfocused as he stared out the window. "They say heaven is a place on earth," he said. Natasha rolled her eyes and he grinned. Pop music wasn't exactly her thing, but she did remember a cheesy song or two along those lines. She glanced around their home and sobered abruptly. "But isn't this your place?" she pressed. Surely any moment now he would realize that this was a terrible plan and not at all what he wanted…

"No," he said without hesitation. She could only stare at him. "My place…it's with you." He spoke with a shrug and his ridiculous shy smile…

…and it hurt. Natasha was always amazed by how much love resembled the sensation of pain. It was vulnerability, it was being cut as deeply as you could stand, sometimes even beyond what you could stand, but it was still warm and beautiful and welcome. It cut you open, but filled the places it hollowed out.

She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the feeling, but she was prepared to try.

She sighed in fond exasperation and hoped the tears threatening behind her eyes weren't obvious.

"Bruce," she said quietly, and hoped he could understand what she meant. "You are such a _dork_."

Bruce shrugged and the smile that broke over his face was beautiful in its quiet confidence. "You love me anyway."

She reached for his hand and tangled their fingers because she really couldn't argue with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this. It was so nice to just be stupidly happy instead of riding the angst train the current Marvel canon has going. I hope you all enjoyed it, too.
> 
> I have very nascent plans for a possible sequel...or it might end up as more unconnected BruceNat fic. So, um, watch for that?
> 
> I just want to say a couple of things about Bruce and Natasha's relationship and my interpretation of it, here, so feel free to skip straight to reviewing if you're not feeling a lengthy set of notes!
> 
> I wanted to tread very, very lightly with the nightmare scene, because Natasha has been so violently criticized as being weak anytime she shows any hint of emotion. I wrote the nightmare scene because the demons Natasha faces are in her mind, unlike Bruce's more obvious physical problem (although he has plenty of emotional complications, too, some of which stem from that Hulk issue). I think that any development of their relationship had to address how she supports him (which we've already explored in previous chapters) but the harder question is how does he support her? I think Bruce is capable of crazy levels of empathy after his lifetime of suffering, and that could be a huge comfort to Natasha. And his constancy, his steadiness would be a huge help to her, helping her to bear the crushing guilt and trauma she feels. She doesn't need him per se — and she said that in the chapter — she could just fight her battles alone. After all, she's done that her whole life. But part of any relationship is deciding not to fight battles alone, but to share them. They would have to do that to be a functioning couple and I don't think that would weaken either Bruce or Natasha. She's done nothing but support him in every possible way in Age of Ultron and in this fic, so it was high time that Bruce pulled his weight in this romance lol.
> 
> We actually do see a couple of examples of supportive!Bruce in AoU — just think of his "I think you're being hard on yourself" line when Natasha is talking about her deeply-held fear that she can't be a hero, that she's doomed to be what she was forced to be: an assassin with a dark past and no future. And then the wonderful line in Sokovia at the end of AoU, affirming that Natasha is a hero: "And you've done plenty." The warmth on her face! Natasha doesn't need anyone or anything — we could all continue to live in this world even without strong support systems, regardless of the health of that — but I think that the sort of affirmation that she has received and could receive from Bruce would have an enormously positive impact. She's always striving to wipe out that red in her ledger, always struggling to balance the scales between the good and the bad that she's done, and that's got to be wearing. But Bruce sees her in a far more positive light than she's ever been seen before. What must that feel like, to be constantly struggling for "salvation" and feeling like it's impossible ("I had a dream, the kind of dream that seems normal at the time, that I could be anything other than the assassin they made me.") and then someone tells you that not only is it possible, but it's already a reality. Just think of the power of that! The power of someone thinking well of you and even needing you. Scarlett Johansson mentioned something that fascinated me in an interview…she said that the lullaby situation activates Natasha's maternal instinct. I was blown away by that thought. Here is a woman who has spent her life as a killing machine, spent her life regretting the fact that she destroys, and then she's handed the opportunity to help someone instead of hurt them, to be gentle instead of violent, to be connect and heal instead of destroy. I think that there would be something of the maternal about that, but not in a "Natasha wants kids and that's OOC" kind of way. To be human is to be engaged in connection with other humans, and Natasha develops a special connection with Bruce. It's a connection that has enormous healing potential for two very damaged people, and I think that's beautiful. I hope I managed to bring some of that out in this chapter.
> 
> Finally, a quick word about Tony in this chapter. He's a little testy with Natasha in places, partially because I couldn't imagine that he was entirely thrilled that she stole his Science Bro and left without a word. I think Tony would be happy for BruceNat, but not necessarily above a little jealousy and petulance lol. There's also the fact that all the interactions we see between Tony and Natasha are a bit caustic after he finds out that she's a SHIELD agent in Iron Man 2. We don't actually see much of them interacting in Avengers or AoU, but I can't imagine that his attitude towards her has faded entirely. Eh, it's a matter of opinion, I suppose.

**Author's Note:**

> When I investigated what color the Hulk's eyes were, I was surprised to see that in many pictures from Age of Ultron, they look brown! His eyes were green in pics from The Avengers... so I was a bundle of questions. Was it just a trick of the light? Was it a subtle shift in the Other Guy as he became more in tune with Bruce? (Maybe the eyes fluctuate according to how present Bruce is in the Hulk at any given time?) I'm not sure of the exact science of Hulk-outs lol. But, since turning into an indestructible green muscle man because of gamma radiation is technically impossible anyway, I feel entitled to artistic license. ;)
> 
> Also, I've never been to any country in South America, so I did copious amounts of googling to prepare for the first section of the chapter. I hope that I didn't do too badly... If you live in Peru, don't hate me! *waves artistic license flag frantically*


End file.
